


Turn Left

by KiraMae



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Gen, Mass Effect AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-16 04:40:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 63,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/857901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiraMae/pseuds/KiraMae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mass Effect AU<br/>FemShep, Earthborn<br/>Infiltrator</p><p>Shepard's life has always been a series of decisions with far-reaching consequences.  When she was young, she chose to leave Earth for a life on the Citadel.  She chose not to join the Alliance.  But certain galactic events were going to happen, regardless, and it is Shepard's destiny to be a part of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. On the Citadel

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to Bioware. This fanfiction is not for profit, but for the enjoyment of the fans.  
> *Author's note: There WILL be spoilers for all games in the series, including DLCs, as well as inclusion of events from official comics and novels. This story assumes you have a working knowledge of the Mass Effect universe, the various races and technologies. If something isn't explained to your satisfaction, check your Codex.

 Sprinting from cover, Garrus launched an electrical overload attack from his omnitool at the fleeing figure in light armor. He watched with satisfaction as her shields went down just before she ducked behind one of the many large crates strewn haphazardly around the cargo yards. “Run all you want, Shepard, I'll find you!” he snarled, preparing a concussive shot to blow her cover to smithereens. Before he had a chance to fire, she dove out and rolled across the ground, fired twice at him with a heavy pistol and was gone around a corner.

Her pistol had been modified with disruptor ammunition; the first slug thudded into shipping container behind Garrus with a crackling hiss, but the second took down his shields. A third shot might have got him in the chest, but Shepard seemed more concerned with making a getaway. Garrus wasn't about to let that happen.

With a crash, he connected with the wall on the far side of the dock, used his omnitool to give his shields a quick boost, then slid over to peer around the corner she'd disappeared behind.

Shepard was waiting for him, and a flash-bang grenade went off almost in his face. Blinded and disoriented, Garrus ducked back quickly, narrowly avoiding another flurry of rounds from the heavy pistol. He heard a muffled curse and the distinctive hiss of an overheated weapon venting. Garrus blinked, trying to clear his vision. Checking the combat optics on his visor, he saw her as a red blip about 30 meters away before she suddenly disappeared. Garrus leaned out to for another look, figuring she wouldn't risk giving away her position by firing on him or tossing another flash-bang. His icy blue gaze swept the area; if there were any dock workers or bystanders, they had cleared out as Garrus pursued his prey through the factory district. The dock was quiet but for the whir of automated cargo clamps flying overhead, bearing their loads.

There: the telltale flicker of a tactical cloak. She was easing toward an open duct, trying not to draw attention. Garrus still had the concussive round loaded into his sniper rifle, but he'd have to be quick.

In one fluid motion he burst from cover, took aim, and fired at the fire containment system tank mounted on the wall above the duct opening. Shepard's tactical cloak failed as she leapt out of the way of the explosion, and the metal panel on the wall screeched and twisted, falling down and partially blocking her escape. Without missing a beat, Garrus ran full pelt towards her, sliding over the top of the crates in his path, bearing down on her almost before she could react. Shepard took a running start then leapt, landing on her stomach and sliding toward the warped metal plate blocking the duct. She grabbed the edge of the fallen panel, gave it a hard shove to one side, and was somehow managing twist her lithe human body into a space that hardly looked big enough to fit a child. Garrus had to admit it, the woman had flexibility. With a leap he was sliding towards her disappearing form, his right shoulder connecting painfully with the wall, left arm snaking into the duct after her. Just as it seemed she might vanish where he could not follow, he had her by the ankle. Anyone else might have lost her, but fortunately Garrus had the advantage of superior reach.

With a savage yank he pulled her back; she cried out and attempted to twist her body and wedge it into place. There was no way she was coming in easy. Swiftly, Garrus checked his omnitool and saw that his overload had recharged. He was already inside her regenerated shields, talons wrapped firmly around her right ankle, so he deployed the overload at its lowest setting. More than enough to knock out an organic enemy. Her cry was half rage as her body stiffened in reaction, then went lax. Garrus pulled her limp form out carefully, trying not to injure her further. Leaving her lying on her stomach, he pulled her arms back to put restraints on her wrists before finally catching his breath and looking down at his prize.

“The Shepard” they called her in the criminal underworld. He didn't know her real name or where she came from, just that she was a human female, technical expert and wicked shot. He counted himself lucky that he'd caught her off-guard, keeping her moving too much for her to employ the deadly sniper rifle she had strapped to her back. She might regain consciousness at any moment, so he relieved her of it while he was still thinking about it, then rolled her onto her side to remove her heavy pistol and omnitool as well. Her half-helmet slipped off, and a tumble of sweat dampened red hair escaped, fanning out on the floor and releasing a musky scent that was not entirely unpleasant. Still lying on the floor beside her, her back to his front, he cradled her almost as one might a lover.

Years, he'd been chasing this woman. He'd developed a healthy respect for her capabilities in that time, and catching her today had been the result of a carefully executed plan. For all of his plotting, he'd nearly lost her again, though now that he had her he was almost sorry the hunt was over.

Her eyelids fluttered, and suddenly self-conscious about spooning an unconscious criminal, Garrus scrambled to his feet. Looking down, he met a murderous green gaze.

“Officer Vakarian.” Her voice was rich and resonant, and he liked the sound of his name on her lips. She rolled onto her back and flicked her gaze quickly up and down, then to either side, assessing her chances of escape. Always thinking, this one.

“Don't even think about it, Shepard,” Garrus warned. “I'm bringing you in, and I don't have a problem knocking you out again if you resist.” She tensed slightly, then relaxed and shrugged.

“Have it your way, Vakarian. You might have caught me... but good luck keeping me.”

 

_“Breaking News: The Human Alliance colony on Eden Prime has been attacked. Who is responsible? Sources claim, incredibly, that the Geth are to blame for the devastation and rumors abound of an advanced Geth war machine unlike anything seen in Citadel space spotted leaving the planet. Captain David Anderson, a decorated Alliance officer, was on the scene in his ship, the SSV Normandy SR1, a prototype Alliance warship of human-turian design. The exact details of the attack are still emerging, but is this just a political ploy by the Alliance in their bid to get one of their own into the elite Spectre Program? Stay tuned for answers to this question and more on this breaking story.”_

 

A sharp shove between the shoulder-blades sent Shepard stumbling into the holding cell; a forcefield flickered to life behind her, sealing her in. “Nice catch, Vakarian,” the human C-Sec officer who had pushed her jeered. “I gotta say, that soldier get-up looks real good on that bod of yours, princess,” he continued, leering at her suggestively.

“Harkin. A little decorum, if you don't mind,” Officer Vakarian snapped. “We're Citadel Security, not thugs or common mercenaries. She's a suspect, she hasn't been charged yet, and we are following protocol here, so put your tongue back in your mouth or I've half a mind to actually let you in that cell with her and chalk whatever she does to you up as a workplace accident.” The turian officer seemed to consider doing just that, mandibles flicking slightly in amusement.

Shepard almost wished he would. “Call me princess again and you'll be picking your teeth up off the floor,” she growled. Stronger men than the balding, middle aged C-Sec officer eyeballing her now had quailed before the look in her eyes at that moment.

“Okay, okay, relax!” Harkin backed off, retreating to a desk nearby. Behind the unkempt mountain of paperwork, he not-so-sneakily took a pull off a hip flask.

Shepard was already calculating how she was going to get out of this. If she were left alone, she was confident she could bypass the lock on the holding cell, though it would take longer without her omnitool. She half-hoped that Vakarian would leave her under Harkin's watchful eye, as the human officer was already dozing off, half slumped in his chair. At the same time, she was enjoying the chance to observe Vakarian up close for once. The only other times she'd been this close, it was because he was in hot pursuit and she'd been desperate to put some distance between them.

The resourceful and extremely efficient Garrus Vakarian had been dogging Shepard for years. As she'd made a reputation for herself in the seedy crime world thriving on the fringe edges of the wards, she'd been pained to discover that the price of infamy was the dedicated attention of one of C-Sec's top officers. They'd played cat and mouse a long while, and the man was extremely competent. Shepard had enjoyed the game, until tonight, when he had lured her into a trap she almost hadn't spotted until it closed around her, and by then it was too late.

Officer Vakarian had stretched his lanky form out behind his nearby desk, and was tapping away at the holographic interface of a screen mounted on the corner. She admired him covertly; the blue colony markings across the cheek bones of his pale grey face, the way he crinkled his nose when he was thinking. He had a magnificent profile, she thought, and he wore the dark blue standard issue C-Sec light armor like he'd been born in it. She'd always had a soft spot for tall, blue-eyed men.

Shepard couldn't deny that the past few years on the run from him had been exhilarating, to say the least. Vakarian had played fast and loose with the law in his determination to bring her in, and she'd thoroughly enjoyed the challenge presented in keeping a step ahead of him.

Her musings were interrupted before she could follow her idle train of thought by the arrival of another turian. He walked with an air of authority, had elaborate white colonial markings on his red-brown face, and large mandibles making him look distinguished and aged. He wasn't wearing C-Sec blue, just the usual geometric patterned casual wear considered fashionable by well-to-do turians, but when Vakarian looked up at the swish of the door and saw who had entered he leapt to his feet, saluting smartly.

“Executor Palin, sir.”

Palin nodded at Vakarian, then glared in the direction of the oblivious Harkin, who's only greeting was a soft wheezing snore. “Didn't I suspend him?”

“Last month, sir. He's on probation.”

The older turian shook his head, then turned his attention back to the officer in front of him. “Vakarian, I need you to clear your desk and turn over all your active cases. Something big, something-” he paused, seeming to search for a better description, “politically volatile has just come down from the Council. We need our best on it. ”  
Vakarian blinked, then nodded sharply. “Of course, sir, I'm honored. What do you need me to do?”

“What I _need_ is for you to do this by the book. The Council wants an investigation into a Spectre, and anything we dig up has to be solid. There's no margin for error here.”

“A Spectre, sir? Spectres answer only to the Council, they police each other... why is the Council involving C-Sec?”

“There are currently no Spectres aboard the Citadel, and time is of the essence in this case. An Alliance colony was attacked. Spectre Nihlus Kryik was on the scene, and was killed in action. Witnesses are claiming that he was killed by another Spectre... Saren Arterius. You see now the gravity of the assignment?” Palin drew himself up tall, clasping his hands behind him as he spoke.

Shepard was familiar with the names of both turian Spectres mentioned. Gathering information was part of her trade, and those two were legends among the turians, for better or worse. Palin was right; this _was_ big. He also, clearly, hadn't realized that there was an actively listening criminal sitting not ten feet away, filing every word he spoke away to sell to the nearest information broker. She waited, holding her breath, to see if she'd be lucky enough for any more tidbits to fall... but some small motion must have drawn Vakarian's attention, for suddenly his blue-eyed gaze was on her.

Shepard wondered if shoving her hands in her pockets and whistling like a cartoon character would work.

Palin turned, to see what suddenly seized his officer's attention, and spotted her. “Who's this?”

“The Shepard, sir. Just brought her in, I uh- I haven't had the chance to get her processed yet.” Vakarian suddenly looked like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't, and Shepard became suspicious. Palin was sizing her up, a shrewd look in his blue eyes, mandibles drawn tightly to his face in the turian equivalent of a human compressing his lips. She suddenly got the sense that there might be a way out of this for her.

“The Shepard,” Palin repeated. He exhaled slowly through his nose, casting his eyes downward. “You've been after her for a long time, Vakarian. What do you have to charge her with?”

“Well, sir, I uh- she appeared to be targeting a cargo haul of perishable consumables...” Vakarian wasn't quite stammering, but he was clearly caught off guard.  
Shepard suddenly realized what was going on. Just because she was a suspected criminal, didn't mean she was a proven criminal. She'd never been caught, her record was clean, and Vakarian didn't have any evidence of any specific crime to charge her with, except the cargo raid that HE set up to lure her in. Playing fast and loose with the law didn't always work out in a rigid system like C-Sec.

“I demand to see my advocate!” she shouted, cutting off Officer Vakarian's scrambled explanation. “This... this... brute! Hauled me in here without explanation! He opened fire on me on sight, I haven't DONE anything!” Her shouting awakened Harkin, who jerked upright with a grunt and promptly toppled out of his chair. It was everything Shepard could do to not smirk at Vakarian, as Palin closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “I was going to make an offer on those food supplies after I verified the quality, I had every right to be at that cargo warehouse!” she continued, swiftly trying to cobble together a legitimate story in her head while yelling and carrying on a the same time. It was clear Palin didn't believe her for a second, but it was equally clear they couldn't prove she was a liar either. Wearily, Palin turned towards the clearly fuming Officer Vakarian, who looked as though he might like to come into the holding cell and break her neck.

He was welcome to try.

“Vakarian, you are a damn good officer, but you need to learn some patience,” Palin said sternly.

“Patience?” Vakarian was incredulous. “I've been tracking her for years!”

“And you should have continued to do so for as many years as it took for her to slip up. You'd think an officer of the law would be a bit more mindful of rules and regulations... Vakarian, this is entrapment. Any ten-credit solicitor could poke enough holes in this to vent the whole thing into space. If you have nothing solid to charge this woman with, release her. We have bigger concerns than petty human street criminals.”

Shepard refrained from scowling at the description.

“Executor, I _know_ she's a criminal, how can I release her? Just let her go back to her criminal activities, if we don't stop her now-”

“I resent these accusations!” Shepard hollered loudly. She couldn't help herself; this time, she did smirk at him.

“Drop the Shepard case, Vakarian. That's an order. The investigation into Saren is paramount.” Executor Palin was already headed back toward the door, talking over he shoulder on his way out. “I've transmitted all the necessary data to you... you have until the Alliance vessel Normandy arrives with her crew before the Council holds the hearing. That is not a lot of time.”

 

Tali'Zorah checked her suit readouts; her injuries were worse than she originally thought, and her medigel supplies had run dry. The adrenaline rush leftover from evading the turian mercenary was wearing off. Exhausted, Tali stumbled through the maintenance area, dully wondering what she was supposed to do now, where she was supposed to go. Jacobus might be dead, sealed and burned alive back in the incinerator she'd just left, but Tali didn't feel any safer. Keenah, her only friend on the Citadel, the only other person who knew what she knew, was dead too. Tali didn't even know if there was one other quarian in the whole citadel to help her, and the turian clerk at the embassy had dismissed her as a suit rat and turned her away. Where could she go?

Her vision swam, little black dots floating at the edges, and Tali could feel her temperature spiking sharply. Infection from the gunshot wound to her arm was setting in. Her knees gave, and she lurched against the wall. A choked sob escaped her, and she slowly slid down to the ground. Was this it? The ignoble end of the Admiral's daughter?

No. She shook her head sharply, trying to clear her vision and her thoughts. No. She was not going to give up. If not for herself, for the quarian people. The information recovered from that geth was too important.

Tali heaved herself up, stumbled, steadied herself against the wall. She took a deep breath through her suit filters. _One step at a time_ , she thought, though she still wasn't sure where she was going. Blinking, she looked up and ahead, trying to come up with some plan of action- and met a set of big brown eyes staring back out of one of the ducts in the opposite wall.

A human boy, very young, was easing out into view, never taking his eyes off her.

Tali didn't know who he was. She didn't care. She needed help.

“Can you help me?” she asked, plaintively.

He looked her over, and apparently came to the conclusion that she was not a threat. His eyes rested on the gunshot wound in her arm. “You're hurt,” he observed. Tali only nodded. His eyes moved back up to her mask, straining to see through it to her face. “The Shepard can help you.”

 

Tali still didn't know where they were. The boy had pulled her good arm over his shoulders, let her lean on him as he moved with purpose through narrow shafts, keeper tunnels, and maintenance areas. Suddenly, they emerged into an open area that was clearly some sort of living space.

The room was filled with old bedding thrown down on the floor, cots lining the walls, makeshift partitions made of blankets thrown over crooked plastic frames. It reminded Tali of the enclosed, shared living areas of the quarians back on the Migrant Fleet. In spite of how it was haphazardly thrown together, it had the air of permanence. This was a home. People lived here. Children of all ages, races, and genders were scattered through the area, some asleep, some playing, some eating, but when Tali came in with the boy, they turned to stare at her openly. Some fled, disappearing into ducts in the walls, others came forward to see her more closely, emboldened by curiosity. The boy was leading her towards a series of workbenches on one side of the room, where older children were working on various bits of tech, or combing through data readouts on hacked terminals. That's where Tali spotted the only adult in the room, a tall human woman with red hair and her hand over her face, speaking in a tired voice.

“-they couldn't charge me with anything, but I still didn't get off easy,” she was saying to human boy in his early teens. “Fined me for illegally carrying unlicensed firearms, they confiscated my weapons- that was my favorite rifle! Damn that turian! And they processed me, that's it, I'm in the system now. Full body holo, retinal scan, prints, biometrics, the works. I even had to come up with a legitimate name and birth date off the top of my head. I can't rely on anonymity anymore.”

The boy smiled crookedly. “You have a birthday, now?” he asked, laughter in his voice.

“Can we focus on what's important here, Mouse?” The woman seemed exasperated, but was smiling fondly at the boy.

The child leading Tali forward halted. “Shepard?” he called, and Tali hoped against hope that this woman could help. The redheaded woman turned, spotted them, and suddenly was at Tali's side.

“You're hurt,” she stated, examining the gunshot wound in her arm.

“Please,” Tali clutched weakly at the woman's arm. “I have information... it's too important to be lost if I die.”

The Shepard ignored her, and to Tali's surprise, was using her omnitool to pull up Tali's suit readout. How did a human know how to interface with a quarian envirosuit? “Shit,” she murmured to herself. “You're out of medigel and this infection is getting worse. Robert?” She addressed the boy who'd brought Tali in. “Tell Mouse to grab the dextro medical supply crate and bring it here. I want you two to load this girl's omnitool full of medigel and antibiotics until you can't squeeze another drop in.” She turned back to Tali. “Do you have a name?”

“Tali. Tali'Zorah nar-” a fit of coughing cut her off. “nar Rayya. Shepard you must... you must tell the Council...”

Shepard shushed her softly. “You'll tell the Council yourself, we'll get you all patched up.” Her deep frown belayed her reassuring words, though, as she used her omnitool to analyze Tali's injured arm. “You need more than medigel, you need a real doctor.”

“Saren and the Geth!” Tali all but shouted, and finally the Shepard's attention left her wound and snapped to her face.

“What do you know about Saren?” she asked in a low voice, but Tali hardly heard her. Mouse was pumping her suit full of the medications she had run out of hours before, and she almost passed out in the blessed relief of the pain abating. “Damn it!” she heard the Shepard say. “She needs a doctor, now. Mouse. Get her to Dr. Michel's clinic as fast as you can. Try not to be seen. Someone is after this girl's life. Tali?” Tali opened her eyes. She hadn't even realized she had close them. She met the Shepard's startlingly green gaze. “Tali, we're getting you to someone who can help. Don't worry, OK? The information you have will reach the right people. Everything is going to be all right.”

Mouse was already under Tali's good arm, leading her toward an access tunnel nearby. As he led her from the room, she looked back, and saw the Shepard talking to the image of a volus on her omnitool. “I don't know exactly what the quarian knows, but trust me Barla, its information you want,” she was saying. “For the right price, I can tell you where to find her.”

 

It was calm, quiet, and absolutely serene in the council chambers at the top of the Citadel Tower. Beneath the outspread branches of carefully maintained trees or on benches at the edges of idyllic rock gardens, beautiful people of many races murmured softly to each other. Nothing reflected the simmering frustration Garrus was struggling to keep from exploding out of him.

“Saren's hiding something!” he didn't quite shout at the Executor, but he wasn't far from it. “Give me more time- stall them!”

Executor Palin's stern face was disbelieving. “Stall the Council?” He shook his head. “Don't be ridiculous. You're investigation is over, Garrus.” Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving Garrus standing alone at the top of the steps leading down to the elevator.

But Garrus was determined. He knew people, knew how to read their intentions, and the moment he'd delved into the Saren investigation he'd known the Spectre was bad news. Not sure where he was going, he started to turn down the steps, and found himself face-to-face with a trio of humans in full armor he somehow hadn't heard approach.

He recognized the one at the forefront, having read the Eden Prime file as a part of his investigation before the Normandy docked. The human male was the executive officer under Captain Anderson, a Sentinel Class Alliance soldier who had been on the ground team at Eden Prime, and had interacted in some way with the Prothean Beacon that had sparked the whole incident in the first place.

“Commander Alenko,” Garrus greeted the dark haired man. “Garrus Vakarian. I was the officer in charge of the C-Sec investigation into Saren.”

“Come across anything I should know about?” Commander Alenko asked. His face spoke of confidence and trust, with a strong, determined jaw and honest brown eyes. He was flanked on either side by the two other humans, a clearly awestruck young man in a beret who's human ears seemed disproportionately large, and dark haired woman with cautious, watchful eyes, who carried a full arsenal of weapons on her back with the air of someone who knew how to use them.

Garrus crossed his arms, not bothering to hide his frustration. “Saren's a Spectre,” he told the Commander. “Most of his activities are classified. I couldn't find anything solid... but I know he's up to something. Like you humans say, I feel it in my gut.” Garrus had good instincts. Unfortunately, C-Sec didn't care to take action based on hunches.

“I think the Council's ready for us, Commander,” the woman on the right spoke up.

“Good luck, Alenko,” Garrus said, nodding as they moved past each other. “Maybe they'll listen to you.” The team of humans headed up the stairs towards the council as Garrus headed down to the elevator, glad to be leaving the politics to them and eager to be out of the artificially peaceful Presidium.

The elevator ride to the bottom of the tower was long, but Garrus took the opportunity to take a few moments to think. He pulled out his omnitool, intent on combing through the files on Saren he _did_ have access to for the hundredth time, looking for something he missed. He was surprised to find the “message waiting” light blinking solemnly at him. The source was unknown, the channel it had come in on encrypted. Puzzled, he opened the screen. The face on the tiny recording was one of the last ones he'd expected to see.

“Vakarian,” Shepard said. “Meet me in Chora's Den. It's about Saren.” That was it, the whole message. He blinked, immediately suspected a trap, and just as quickly dismissed the fear. She had gotten away with a slap on the wrist, and she wasn't about to go making things worse for herself by targeting him in a public night club.

The elevator opened out onto the Presidium, and Garrus moved straight to the nearest Rapid Transit station. He had hit a dead end in his investigation in to Saren using official channels, maybe it was time to talk to someone who's information network was unofficial. He wasn't sure why he instinctively trusted that the Shepard wasn't out for revenge. He pretended that the only reason he was going to see her was a possible lead, and not because some part of him just wanted to see her again.

 

Arriving at Chora's Den, Garrus didn't see her at first. The dingy night club was small and poorly lit, run by a shady human who's strong-arm tactics in the criminal underworld had earned him the the name of “Fist.” It wasn't a popular after-hours hangout for C-Sec, but most of the clientele were too focused on their drinks or the gyrating dancers on the stage above the central bar to notice him. It was very crowded; the seedy place was inexplicably popular.

An asari dancer caught his eye, her body undulating in a way that would be impossible for a turian female. Maybe the popularity wasn't so inexplicable, after all.

Garrus kept moving, working his way around the circular bar. He was here for a reason, and he didn't need distractions. That was when he spotted Shepard at table way in the back; she was out of her light armor, instead wearing a fashionable cropped blue vest with a high collar over something form-fitting, black and shiny. She was sitting sideways, her legs stretched along the booth seat, and Garrus was startled to see she wasn't alone. Her legs, in tall sturdy boots that buckled up the sides, were thrown over the lap of none other than Harkin, who was slumped to one side, several empty glasses lying on their sides on the table in front of him. Garrus slowed as he approached, not sure what to think.

Shepard saw him coming, and a smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. “A companion at my table keeps me from being harassed by the regulars,” she said, by way of explanation to his clearly confused face. “And a full drink in Harkin's hand keeps me from being harassed by Harkin.” Garrus' eyes followed her long, shapely legs as she swung them around in front of her and stood up. When he realized what he was doing, he snapped his eyes back up to her face with embarrassment, but she didn't appear to have noticed.

Harkin stirred as she moved away from the table. “Hey!” he bleated, opening his eyes blearily. “Where- goin'?” That profound question asked, he slouched back down again, then let out a belch that might make a krogan proud. He appeared to have forgotten the two of them again.

Shepard was already making her way through the crowd, twisting back to Garrus to call over the heavy music, “We need to get to Dr. Michel's clinic in the wards! I don't know how much time we have.” Garrus followed in the path she cut through the dancers and the drunks. He caught up to her when she stopped in the entry.

“Why are you helping me?” Garrus asked bluntly, grabbing an arm and swinging her around to face him. “It wasn't that long ago you were trying to kill me.”

Green eyes met blue in a battle of wills, but her face was considering. “I don't want you dead, Vakarian,” she said, finally. “But you were trying to bring me in, and I couldn't let that happen.” Garrus opened his mouth, ready to interrogate her on the spot, but found himself stumbling back instead as a large krogan came pushing his way between them on his way into the club. He swung his head towards Garrus, a dangerous look in his red eyes, impressive scars across his red skull plate and down his cheek and neck.

“This... establishment. It belongs to Fist?” he asked in a low, gravelly voice. Garrus simply nodded, stepping back and giving the krogan a wide berth. He was heavily armed and armored, and anyone with facial scars like that who lived to tell about it was not to be taken lightly.

The krogan grunted, nodded. “Urdnot Wrex has come to collect,” he growled, more to himself than Garrus, and disappeared inside the night club.

Shepard was backed against the opposite wall, looking relieved the krogan hadn't turned in her direction. She met Garrus' eyes. “I told you we didn't have much time. We can talk about which one of us wants to kill who another day,” she snapped, motioning to him and stepping out in the relatively deserted walkway that led towards Chora's Den. “I want to help you because Saren is a threat. When I overheard that C-Sec was interested in him, I became interested in him, too. Started doing some digging on my own, looking to find the things you might miss so I could sell the information back to you, or to someone else, for the right price.” This wasn't terribly surprising to Garrus. Most of the criminal element on the Citadel dabbled in information trading. “I didn't like what I found, Vakarian,” she continued. “I'm a good judge of character... and that Spectre is dirty. The things I uncovered... GARRUS!”

Before he had time to react to her not only using his first name, but shouting it, she had leapt toward him, bodily slamming him into the ground. He looked up in time to see the wall behind where he'd just been standing being peppered with bullets. They lay sprawled together for a moment, and he caught a whiff of her sweet musk again, before she was rolling off him into a trained combat crouch, staying in cover behind the low and thankfully solid sidings to the walkway. Garrus' heavy pistol leapt into his hand, and he was already using his combat visor to scan the area. Two hostiles on the opposite walkway, moving around the connected bridges on either side of them, closing in and trying to flank them.

“You take the one on the left, I'll take the one on the right?” he asked, turning back to Shepard. It was then that he realized she was unarmed. It didn't seem to bother her, however. She nodded, and with the flicker of a tactical cloak, she was gone.

He didn't pause to worry or wonder; the woman could clearly handle herself. A second scan of the closing enemies showed low-grade shields and poor quality armor. “Cheap assassins, Saren” he muttered to no one in particular. Patiently, Garrus waited for the right moment, poised just at the edge of the corner wall the assassin was going to have to turn any second... now!

Just as the poor idiot stepped in to sight, Garrus already had the gun trained on his head. It only took one shot to decimate his low grade shields. The second sank in right between his eyes.

Garrus straightened and spun around, training his gun on the second enemy as he burst around the corner at the far end of the walkway. Fleetingly, he wondered if Shepard had abandoned him, until the next instant, when she suddenly materialized behind the oblivious thug.

With an almighty cry, she plunged the glowing orange blade of her omnitool through his chest. He crumpled where he stood, and did not move again. Shepard considered the dead man for a moment, blood spattered chest heaving as she caught her breath. Then she looked back up at Garrus.

“Saren knows!” she cried across the distance between them. “He knows we're coming for the intel... you have to get to Dr. Michel's clinic, he'll have sent assassins there too!” As she shouted from the far end of the walkway, she was backing away, toward the edge. Where did she think she was going? “He might have sent other assassins! I have to go, I have to look after my kids!”

Garrus barely had time to register, _kids??_ when she had placed one hand on the edge of the wall, gracefully swung her legs over it, and disappeared into the void. “Shepard!” he shouted, running forward, knowing there was no way he could reach her in time. She was unharmed, though, as he looked below and spotted her sprinting away along a keeper catwalk she had somehow known was there. She stopped long enough to look back at him and yell one last message.

“Find a way to stop him!” she shouted, and with that, side-stepped into a keeper tunnel and was gone.

 

“ _...the Normandy was last seen leaving the human colony world of Feros after fending off yet another Geth incursion and saving the lives of the people residing in the small settlement known as Zhu's Hope..._ ”

Shepard flicked off the news. Chalk another one up for Officer Vakarian and the first human Spectre.

She couldn't quite figure why the constant news coverage bothered her so much. At first, she had been so proud; Saren had been exposed for the threat that he really was, and though he'd gotten away, she felt like she had been instrumental in showing the galaxy his true colors. She'd helped Tali, the injured quarian; had gotten Garrus to the right time and the right place to get the intel from her. Somewhere along the way he had met up with Commander Kaidan Alenko, and the two of them had gotten the vital evidence to the Council. Shepard watched with all the other awed humans as the Commander was inducted into the Spectres. The first human Spectre. It was a big deal.

There, in the background of the vids, she'd seen Garrus standing at Commander Alenko's right hand. And then the Normandy left the Citadel with him on board, on the trail of the rogue Spectre, and Shepard was left with a hollow feeling, like she'd missed out on something. Helping Garrus had felt so _right_ , deep in her gut, she knew it was the thing to do. But now, she just felt a little lost. She felt like the person left home alone when there was a party going on in the house down the street.

Pushing herself back from the table where she was working, Shepard carefully stretched out neck and shoulder muscles that were sore and cramped from hunching over the disassembled tech on the table. She was very nearly finished cobbling together a proper omnitool for little Robert. Once he had a working one, Mouse could start training him on basic door hacking; there were no locked doors on the Citadel that Shepard and her kids couldn't find a way around. If she was going to keep her skills sharp, she'd need to consider branching out. Shepard slouched in her chair, leaning her head back and pushing the ever-present wisps of red hair that always seemed to straggle in to her eyes back, and considered her options.

There had been a job offer for someone of her particular skill set in the Plutus system. An old friend had contacted her a day or so ago, and Shepard had still not responded. She seldom took jobs off the station, had always felt her responsibility to her kids came first.

The collection of duct rats she cared for and called a family had grown fairly self-sufficient. The kids had safe houses and hidey holes set up all over the Citadel, and got around quickly and more easily than she could any more; Shepard had long ago outgrown most of the narrow passages and shafts the children used. The older ones watched out for the younger ones, and while it was still a dangerous life, kids didn't go missing half as often as they had when she was young. They all knew the dangers, and if they sometimes still disappeared into the shafts never to be seen again, it was common knowledge that if the Shepard found out you had done violence against one of _her_ kids, then you were the one who was going to disappear.

But the honest truth was that they didn't need her anymore. Something about watching Garrus Vakarian walk away from his job at C-Sec and venture out into the galaxy to bigger, better things, got Shepard wondering if maybe it wasn't time for her to leave the Citadel, too. She wasn't sure if she could fight the growing feeling of restlessness any more.

Nothing was going to be solved slouched in a chair staring at the wall, though. Shepard made a command decision; it was time to move on. She sat up straight, scrubbed her hands over her face, then opened her omnitool and dialed the contact she needed.

The screen opened; the familiar stern, blue-eyed face of the man who for years she'd been doing unapproved and unofficial odd jobs for appeared. “Shepard,” he greeted her. As always, she fought the urge to salute and call him “sir;” she was no Alliance soldier. But his unmistakable air of authority, the rugged scar that slashed across his face, these things told you this was a man you respected. “You've thought about my offer?”

“I have, Admiral. I'll be leaving for Nonuel within the next solar day. Consider the Darius situation taken care of.”

“Good. Let me know when it's done. Hackett out.”


	2. The Battle with Saren

It was only by chance that Shepard was on the Citadel that day.

Her ventures took her across the breadth of the known galaxy, her name now known from the slums of Omega to the glittering towers of Ilium. But the Citadel was her home, and she always came back.

On that fateful day, she was checking in on her family of duct rats. She'd brought a few younger human children to the Presidium to see the sights. She liked to show the kids that there was still beauty in the galaxy, that they could put whatever ugly event had left them frightened, alone, and fending for themselves in the past.

Shepard held a seven year old girl, Candace, around the waist while the girl stood on the railing bordering the lake near the Krogan Memorial. The two older boys, Robert and Jordan, were peering between the rails at Shepard's side. The girl asked if if real krogan were that big. Before Shepard could answer, the Avina terminal flickered to life beside them.

“Alert. Alert. This is an emergency situation,” the VI said in her cheerful, programmed voice. Turning slightly, Shepard saw that every Avina terminal in the area had activated, maybe every one on the Presidium ring. A squad of C-Sec jogged toward an elevator, emanating tense urgency. “All civilians should return to their homes immediately,” Avina was saying. “Citadel Security will keep you appraised of the situation. Please remain calm, and proceed in an orderly fashion. Alert. Alert.” The message started repeating. People glanced at one another, looking for reassurance. Was this a joke? What could possibly threaten them here?

Shepard lifted Candace off the railing, and placed her beside the boys. “Hands,” Shepard directed, taking Candace by one hand and Jordan by the other, already herding the children towards the rapid transit terminal. Candace usually hated holding hands, but seeming to sense the disquiet in the air, she obediently linked her other hand with Robert's.

What came next happened so fast, Shepard had no time to react.

Across the water, the central rings of the Relay Monument lurched into sudden movement. With a rapidly rising hum that made Shepard's teeth ache, they spun faster and faster, exactly the way a full mass relay did before a ship made a jump. There was a flare of light, and all hell broke loose.

From nowhere, geth were swarming the carefully manicured grass and artistically sweeping pedestrian walkways. The normally peaceful facade of the Presidium was utterly shattered. Under it's perfect blue skies, the wealthy elite had devolved from demurely strolling about the shops and speaking in soft murmurs, to a screaming mob, shouldering into one another in terror as they tried to run for safety. A wall of killing machines moved forward, firing on the civilians without discretion. More appeared behind them, waves upon waves it seemed without end, as the rings of the Relay Monument continued to spin. Everywhere, unarmed businessmen and women fell, screaming and clutching their wounds, some already lying silent in pools of their own blood.

Not ten feet away, a sickly green blossom of blood erupted from the chest of a sprinting salarian. She stumbled a few more feet, eyes glassy, before falling. Shepard shoved the children roughly behind a large, decorative planter, throwing herself across them, trying to shelter them with her body. She pulled her heavy pistol out of where she'd had it concealed and wished for her rifle instead. Candace was screaming, and Jordan was crying. Shepard clapped a hand over Candace's mouth, hoping not to draw attention. She needed to assess the situation, and spared a second of longing for her Kuwashi visor; no wonder Vakarian always wore his. She vowed never be caught without it, or her rifle, again. If there was not safety to be found here, in the heart of galactic government, then nowhere was really safe.

Shepard eased out, checking for hostiles. “Alert, alert...” a malfunctioning Avina was still saying, the blue projection flickering in and out. Emergency klaxons were now blaring, and fires smoldered from grenades the geth had casually tossed out. In the resulting orange glare, she could see that the nearest geth were yards away. Maybe she and the kids could make it to the keeper tunnel above Barla Von's offices. Ducking back down, she turned to the children. Candace stared wide-eyed, Shepard's hand still firmly over her mouth. Jordan shook with shuddering, silent sobs, his face a mask of terror. He was staring at Robert. That's when Shepard saw the blood.

It was the tiniest entry wound, on the left side of the boy's torso, marked by a spot of crimson the size of a coin. It didn't appear to be bleeding openly. Robert's big brown eyes were wide, staring blankly at something past Shepard's shoulder. A sticky red pool of blood was spreading beneath him.

When had he been hit? Shepard eased him forward, and his head lolled lifelessly to one side. The exit wound encompassed nearly his entire back. Thick chunks of flesh hung from the fragmented bones of his shattered ribcage, and warm blood gushed over her hands. She heard Jordan suck in a strangled breath, heard the scream building inside him that was an echo of the one inside her.

She slapped a hand over his mouth before it escaped. Robert's blood, dripping from her hand, smeared across Jordan's pale cheeks. “You can scream later,” she snarled. “You know the way home. When I say run, you run. Understand?” Shepard gave the boy a hard stare, until he nodded. She looked at Candace, who remain dry-eyed though her jaw was trembling. The girl nodded.

If her enemies had been anything but geth, they would have run in terror from the fury in Shepard's green eyes as she burst from cover. She marched directly towards the dozen or so units between the children hiding behind her and the offices of the financial district and their nebulous promise of safety. Shepard was renowned for her deadly marksmanship; every bullet found it's mark. One after the other, the geth fell in rapid succession.

“RUN!” she roared, and whether she was calling the children to run for safety or warning her enemies to flee for their lives, not even she could say.

The children behind her, clutching each others hands. Shepard did not follow them to safety. With a cry of rage, she continued her steady barrage of fire, trying to take down as many geth as she could, not caring that she had no armor and only the barest of shields. None of that mattered. She moved forward, towards the still spinning relay monument, determined to kill every geth that came out.

“Shepard!” she almost didn't hear the tiny cry. She glanced back, and there was Candace, screaming her name.

“Go!” Shepard screamed, gesturing angrily. Looking terrified, the girl finally turned and ran. Shepard turned back to the monument just in time to see someone else step through. Someone who wasn't a geth.

Saren Arterius. He looked up, met her eyes. Almost negligently, he stretched out an arm, heavy pistol in hand.

Her shields were long since gone; the shot took her in the stomach. Shepard flew backward, crashed in to a wall, slid to the floor. Then there was only darkness.

The Mako flew into the air and Garrus felt his stomach drop. It seemed to hang motionless, for an instant, then it was crashing to the ground, toppling end over end. There was hideous screeching of metal on metal as it spun and slid across the ground, he could hear Liara screaming while Kaidan jerked uselessly at the wheel, trying to regain control. They crashed against something solid, and Garrus' head slammed painfully back against the seat.

Somehow, the safety harnesses had held, and he found himself suspended at an angle in the overturned vehicle, almost completely upside down. Garrus pulled at the fastenings of his harness, glancing over to assess the condition of his squad mates. Liara appeared dizzy and stunned, but she was tougher than most gave her credit for. Kaidan was already out of his seat and pushing at the Mako's side door, which was now facing upward. Garrus grabbed the arms of his seat as the securing straps opened, and smoothly reversed his position, swinging his legs around and dropping to the slanted roof of the Mako in a crouch.

Kaidan gave a frustrated grunt, biotic blue flaring from his hands as he flung his arms outward. The Mako door burst off its hinges and into the air. Liara slid sideways out of her seat, and Garrus reached out a hand to help her down. After a bit of scrambling, the three of them had pulled themselves out and found themselves staring at a devastated Presidium.

The rings at the core of the Relay Monument were slowing to a stop as the Conduit Saren had used to gain access to the Citadel closed. As the hum died, a deathly silence hung in the air, the distinctive quiet that hangs over the aftermath of a battlefield. Bodies were strewn haphazardly in their path, but there didn't seem to be any wounded. Motion caught Garrus' attention, near the elevator that led up to the Tower. Kaidan raised a closed fist, silently signaling to hold position. Just beyond a clearly malfunctioning Avina terminal, some geth had dragged what appeared to be every wounded civilian they could find in to a pile. One by one, they were mounting the injured on giant spikes the humans called “dragon's teeth,” converting the living into the mindless husks they used as shock troops.

Garrus was already reaching for his rifle, as Kaidan signaled to Liara. She nodded her understanding, then braced herself and flung her arms wide. She raised two closed fists, then sharply pulled downward on nothing, her form flaring blue for an instant; a singularity burst into existence above the hapless geth, who floated into the air, spinning helplessly. Garrus sighted quickly on their flailing forms, taking them out quickly and methodically. “Scoped and dropped,” he said with satisfaction. He looked down to see several husks charging, but Kaidan already had his biotics charged. He swept an arm to one side, looking deceptively casual as he did it, and the husks went flying. Before they could regain their feet, Garrus planted bullets in their chests, ensuring they would not get up again.

Kaidan made for the Avina terminal. “Give me a status report,” he demanded, as Avina flickered in and out, facing the wrong direction or with her head on comically backwards. Garrus glanced over at the remaining wounded lying nearby, wondering if he shouldn't try to do something or if there was even time to try and help them.

A familiar tangle of red hair caught his eye.

Before he realized he was moving, he was kneeling at Shepard's side, rolling her on to her back. The wound in her torso was gory, her shields must have been down when she got hit, but she was breathing, and there was a weak pulse. A quick scan with his omnitool showed that none of her vital organs had been hit. That was good.

Garrus wasn't medically trained, he didn't know what to do. The medigel in his omnitool was for dextros and would be no help to her. But he recalled who he was dealing with, the Shepard was always prepared, so he pulled her arm over and opened the omnitool she had equipped. In a place like the Presidium, most people wouldn't bother to carry medigel, or at best, maybe basic first aid. Shepard had a full stock of military-grade medigel, designed for battlefield injuries and mid-combat applications. He slathered it across her wounds, and was rewarded with the sight of her vitals stabilizing almost immediately on the omnitool display.

A breath Garrus hadn't realized he'd been holding in escaped. He barely knew the woman, she was a ruthless criminal, but somehow he couldn't let her die while he had it in his power to save her. He looked up at her face, saw her soft human skin flushing with healthy color again as the medigel worked its magic. To his surprise, she opened her eyes. Spirits, she was a strong one.

“Vakarian.” Her voice was weak, but her breathing was even. She'd be alright. He couldn't tear his eyes away from hers, and she was looking at him in a way he couldn't describe. Then her jaw tensed, and her eyes began to smolder with a slow, hot anger. He wondered if he'd done something wrong. “Saren,” she growled, and he realized her rage was directed elsewhere. She grabbed the front of Garrus' armor and pulled his face down close to hers, surprisingly strong for someone who'd been on the edge of a death a moment before.

“Find him. Kill him.” These words appeared to be uttered with the last of her strength, as her grip slipped from his chest and she fell back, weak from blood loss, eyes closed against the pain.

“Garrus!” Kaidan was calling. A glance over his shoulder, and Garrus saw him at the foot of the elevator, gesturing impatiently. Liara was nearer Garrus, looking curiously at Shepard. “We have to hurry!” Kaidan was saying, and Liara turned and headed toward the elevator. One last look at Shepard, and Garrus realized there wasn't anything else he could do for her. Except act on her request.

Find Saren. Kill him.

 

When the blackness faded, and Shepard became aware of her surroundings, she at first thought she must be dreaming. The last thing she had expected when she blearily opened her eyes was to see the handsome C-Sec officer she'd lost track of months ago, his brow plates drawn together in concern, his intent blue eyes focused on her injuries. When their eyes met, he looked so relieved. She wondered if he knew he was smiling. She wondered if he knew how beautiful he looked, the light coming from behind him and seeming to coalesce around his his head like a halo.

Rousing herself a second time, she found herself alone. Garrus had gone after Saren, but that didn't mean Shepard was just going to lie there and wait for it to all be over. The Citadel was still in danger, and innocent lives were still at stake. Shepard looked at her hands, crusted with dried blood; a solemn, round-cheeked face with dark skin and big brown eyes rose unbidden in her mind. Those big brown eyes gazing up with awestruck reverence at the Krogan Memorial as Avina told the tale; moments later, lifelessly rolling back in his head after Shepard failed to save him.

Fueled by a hot anger burning deep inside her gut, Shepard ignored the pain and pushed herself up. She limped determinedly toward the elevators, and the keeper access tubes that ran behind them. Opening her omnitool, Shepard made a call to Mouse.

“Shepard, you're alive??” The boy's voice was shaking with relief, but his face was terrified.

“I'm alright, Mouse. Did Candace and Jordan make it back to you?”

“Candace showed up alone, she's covered in blood but she doesn't look hurt. I tried to ask about you and the others but she just started screaming. She's been hiding under her bunk.”

“Round up who you can, but don't take any risks,” Shepard directed, trying not to think about what might have happened to Jordan as the two children fled the Presidium. “No heroics. If you see the geth hide, if the husks grab someone, don't go back for them. Save yourselves first. Got it?”

Mouse nodded.

“Good. Now the first thing I need you to do, is bring me my gear. I'm headed for the Council Chambers. Find me there.”

 

The first time Kaidan had stepped into the Council Tower, it had been everything in his power not to look like an awestruck recruit fresh from the colonies. Jenkins had gaped openly, but Ashley had seemed unimpressed. When Kaidan had suggested all the stairs were supposed to be symbolic of the Council's importance, Ash had scoffed, pointing out that the room was clearly following a tactical design and that the stairs would make a good defensive position if the place were ever attacked.

The irony of that observation was not lost on him as he fought his way up those same stairs now.

As always, Garrus was his right hand, providing solid cover fire while Kaidan advanced his position. Liara's powerful biotic attacks kept the attacking geth confused, and steadily they moved forward.

At the top of the stairs, Saren waited, his back to them. He stood at a control panel with large holographic display that Kaidan had not seen before, at the end of an extended bridge stretching toward, but not quite reaching, the Council podiums. Kaidan sprinted forward, flanked by Garrus and Liara; Saren hardly glanced over a shoulder at them, then stepped nonchalantly through the holographic display and off the end of the bridge.

A moment later, he was rising overhead on a small, hovering platform, tossing a grenade at Kaidan's feet. The three of them scattered to either side, only just reaching cover as it blew.

“I was afraid you wouldn't make it in time,” the turian said. In their past exchanges, Saren's voice had been dripping with condescension, layered with sneering arrogance; now it only sounded hollow and synthetic. More than half his body appeared to have been replaced with artificial implants, his eyes glowing a soulless blue, tubes twisting up his arms and across his torso. Kaidan was stunned, speechless.

“Let's end this!” Garrus snarled from cover on the other side of the steps.

“You've lost. You know that, don't you?” Saren mocked. “In a few minutes, Sovereign will have full control of all the Citadel's systems. The relay will open. The Reapers will return.”

“We've still got a few tricks up our sleeves!” Liara, this time, challenging Saren. For a brief moment, Kaidan wondered what happened to the timid archeologist they'd rescued on Therum.

“You survived our encounter on Virmire,” Saren said. “But I've changed since then. Improved. Sovereign has... upgraded me.”

“You let Sovereign implant you?” Kaidan asked, shocked and baffled. “Are you insane?”

“I suppose I should thank you, Alenko. After Virmire, I couldn't stop thinking about what you said. About Sovereign manipulating me. About indoctrination.” Kaidan tried not to wince openly at the mention of that... planet. The time and the place that had been haunting his nightmares every night since they'd left. He could see Garrus tightening his mandibles in anger, Liara's penciled brows furrowing. Saren probably didn't realize the wrath he was invoking by bringing up that name. “The doubt began to eat away at me,” Saren continued, oblivious. “Sovereign sensed my hesitation. I was implanted to strengthen my resolve.” Saren clenched his fist in front of his face, as if marveling at his own new-found strength. “Now my doubts are gone. I believe in Sovereign completely. I understand that the Reapers need organics. Join us and Sovereign will find a place for you, too.”

“Sovereign's controlling you through your implants!” Kaidan shouted. “Don't you see that?”

“The relationship is symbiotic. Organic and machine intertwined, a union of flesh and steel. The strengths of both, the weakness of neither. I am a vision of the future, Alenko. The evolution of all organic life. Join Sovereign and experience true rebirth!”

With a sound like lightning cracking in desert canyon, a single shot rang through the empty council chamber. The bullet took Saren under the jaw; blood spurted out of the back of his head at the base of the skull. He keeled over backwards, falling out of sight and crashing through the glass roof of the enclosed garden below the council podiums, landing on the stones with a sickening thud.

Kaidan glanced at Garrus, stunned, but Garrus was still lying in cover with his back against the wall,undischarged rifle pointing up, and was looking around in confusion. Where had the shot come from?

“No time!” Liara shouted, motioning Kaidan towards the controls. “Quick, open the station's arms! Maybe the fleet can take Sovereign down.”

“Can you open a communications channel?” Garrus asked as Kaidan pulled up the controls and uploaded the data file he'd received from the prothean beacon Vigil.

“Normandy to the Citadel, Normandy to the Citadel... please tell me that's you, Commander.” The incoming transmission was breaking up, but that voice was unmistakable.

“I'm here, Joker,” Kaidan said.

“I'm sitting here in the Andura sector with the entire Arcturas fleet, Commander. Unlock the relays around the Citadel and we'll send the cavalry in!” Kaidan's hands were already flying over the controls, unfreezing the locked out relays linking the Serpent Nebula to the rest of the galaxy.

Just as his finger was striking the last orange holographic key, the room began to shake. The bridge lurched forward, and he slipped, combat boots scrabbling for purchase on the smooth surface. Garrus tumbled past, body automatically going in to a controlled roll to minimize injuries as he fell towards the gardens below. Liara cried out as she lost her ground as well, folding herself in a biotic field and slowing her fall. Kaidan briefly wished his biotics were advanced enough for that, as the bridge gave and he slid ungracefully down, landing in a heap on the garden stones.

He pushed himself up on his hands and knees, trying to shake off the disorientation. A shadow fell across him, and he knew immediately that it was not Garrus or Liara, but something much more menacing.

Bringing his head up slowly, Kaidan looked up; and into the face of terror.

 

Never in her life had Shepard witnessed anything that could compare to what she was seeing now. Fighting the urge to stop and stare, slack-jawed, at the massive and sinister dreadnought that was now squatting malevolently atop the tower, she tried to maintain her focus as she scaled the outside of the tower, intent on reaching the council chambers above.

There were less geth than she expected, as she climbed ever higher, but then Garrus and his people had already been through here. She might even be too late, perhaps Saren was already a stain on the floor, but if he wasn't, she aimed to make sure that condition wouldn't last long.

She kicked in a panel and squirmed into the access tunnel behind it, grunting softly at the dull pang of discomfort from the wound in her gut. She felt stronger now that she was in armor, the reinforced plates seeming to hold her middle together, but she was going to be feeling the hurt tomorrow and she knew it.

“Could have sworn these tunnels were bigger last time I came this way,” she muttered to herself as she pulled her lanky form through a particularly narrow shaft. Then she was there, just inside a grate that let out low in the wall near the elevator. She held her breath and listened carefully for the sounds of fighting, but it seemed quiet in the council chambers. The tactical display of her visor showed life-signs on the far side of the room, but no trace of geth or the berserking krogan who were rampaging through the rest of the tower.

She managed to wriggle around and get her feet against the grate, and pushed slowly but firmly with her heels on the lower corners until she felt it pop open. Carefully, quietly, she slid the grate to one side, easing out and rising swiftly to kneel with her pistol in hand, checking left and right and making sure the room was clear, just in case. Rumors had been spreading of geth who, while inactive, were not detectable by most combat scanners, and she didn't want to take any chances. Leaving the grate open in case she needed to make a quick getaway, she activated her tactical cloak and ran cautiously forward in a half-crouch.

At the top of tiered council steps, Saren stood utterly exposed on a hovering platform. Shepard could see Garrus and an unknown asari in cover on one side of the room, and the human Spectre Kaidan Alenko on the other side.

No one was firing.

They were talking.

 _What are you doing!?_ was all Shepard could think. _Kill him!_ Didn't they see he was a monster? He barely looked turian anymore, his body riddled with foreign tech, even his voice sounded wrong. He couldn't be reasoned with!

Shepard was a woman of action. Still cloaked, she pulled out her sniper rifle, a custom modded Volkov VIII with armor-penetrating proton rounds, and carefully lined up her shot. She wasn't going to get a second chance, so as long as she did this right, then the bullet should go through his shields and get him somewhere his armor didn't protect him. At this upward angle, the soft flesh of his neck and the underside of his jaw would do nicely. If she adjusted the angle just so, it would tear right through the brain stem and occipital lobe.

Shepard breathed out slowly, furrowed her brow slightly.

Gently squeezed the trigger.

“Experience true rebirth!” Saren invited, seconds before he died.

Shepard's tactical cloak fizzled out when she took the shot, and she instinctively ducked behind a low wall. In theory, there was no need to fear, Garrus and his Spectre boss and his asari friend should be thanking her. But habits built of years of hiding were hard to break, and so hide she did. When she peered back around, the three of them were at the controls of a large holographic display, dark silhouettes against its muted orange glow. She came slowly out, starting to move forward. She considered different things to say to Garrus, trying to come up with the best way to rub it in his face that she'd just taken out the rogue Spectre he'd been after for months.

All her sarcasm and wit disappeared when the ground started shaking. The whole of the Citadel Tower shook, and the extended bridge that Garrus and his friends stood upon fractured and crashed forward. Shepard fell to her knees and braced herself on the ground, looked up in time to see Garrus' whole squad tumbling into the gardens below the council podiums. Scrambling, she regained her footing, and ran to the edge, looking down in time to see something truly terrifying.

Saren's corpse was levitating, glowing a sickly red. He seemed to be screaming, but the sounds coming out of him were unlike any sound an organic being should make. The body shook, and whole chunks of flesh seemed to burn away, wisping in to ash and floating away in to the air.

The nearly forgotten, squid-like dreadnought emitted a deafening * **bwooooooom*** that blew out all the glass panels not already broken by the tremors, its massive “arms” crashing against the sides of the tower. Shepard stared up at it, and realized that somehow, it was connected to whatever was happening to Saren in front of her eyes. But as she looked up, she also saw that the Citadel arms were opening wide, and ships were rushing through and opening fire on the dreadnought. Whoever was controlling it, and Saren, was going to have to split their attention.

Distraction would be an advantage, both for the skirmishing fighters above, and for the group here on foot dealing with Saren. Shepard looked down again, and saw with alarm that Saren's corpse was now little more than a synthetic skeleton with glowing red eyes, like something from a nightmare. The Spectre hadn't regained his footing, was scrambling to get upright when the... thing, for it was clearly no longer Saren, took one great stride forward and seized him around the neck, lifting him up high, and throwing him against the wall with unnatural strength.

The Spectre hit the wall with a sickening thud, and Shepard was sure she heard bones break. His broken, bleeding body fell to the floor, but there would be no chance to check on him, to see if he was alive. The skeletal thing was still between the Commander and his friends. It leapt high, moving so fast she almost couldn't track him, and somehow adhered to the wall, crouching like huge, terrifying spider, and began raining heavy fire on Garrus and the asari.

Shepard leapt down to join the fray, landing on both feet with a heavy thud and muffled grunt, trying to ignore the sharp pain from her wound. Garrus was standing with his back to a small wall on one end of the garden that provided the only cover, looking at her with incredulous disbelief written all over his features.

“I probably shouldn't be surprised to see you here,” he said, as she moved up into cover beside him.

“You didn't think a little thing like a hole in my middle was going to slow me down, did you?” Shepard joked. She nodded to the asari. “You got a name?”

“Liara T'Soni!” the woman replied, looking surprised at Shepard's sudden arrival but equally as though she wasn't about to question the arrival of much needed help. Shepard blinked, recognizing the name, and wondering by all that turians held sacred why Garrus was buddying up with the daughter of Saren's right hand, Matriarch Benezia.

Then again, he didn't mind working with Shepard, and she hardly came with a squeaky clean record. She decided to trust him on this one. “How are your biotics?” she asked, while Garrus leaned out of cover to fire a few rounds at an enemy who was jumping around so frenetically that he may as well have been firing rounds in to the sky.

Liara looked unsure for a moment, then nodded, looking more confident in herself. “Strong,” she said. “I'm stronger now than I've ever been.”

“You've come a long way, Liara, and you're getting stronger all the time,” Garrus agreed, coming back in to cover to allow his pistol time to cool.

“Right, here's the plan,” Shepard said. “Garrus, I want you to use fire to herd him, he's too fast to hit but see if you can get him to corner himself. Liara, the second you see him- it- whatever it is, when it's got it's back to the wall I want you to throw up the strongest stasis field you can manage. Hold him. Don't let him go.” Shepard reached for her rifle, a deadly look in her eyes. “Then I rip him to little synthetic bits.”

 

Of course, nothing ever went as smoothly as planned, but overall, Liara was impressed with the Shepard. She was smart and tough and exuded an unconscious air of command. The fight with the Saren-remnant finally ended just as the space battle overhead hit its peak, and Sovereign exploded, raining massive chunks of debris all over the Citadel.

For a moment, Liara, Garrus, and Shepard exchanged relieved smiles. They let their guards down. Liara suddenly remembered a grievously wounded Kaidan, and turned toward where he still lay prone on the ground.

Where he still should have been. There was blood spatter on the wall, a crack in the stone where he had made impact, but Kaidan wasn't there. “Garrus?” she said, turning back. He looked up, and opened his mouth to speak.

“GO!” Shepard was suddenly shouting, gesturing with both arms at them and sprinting forward. Startled, Liara and Garrus both looked at what Shepard had been looking at; through the large glass window above the council podiums, an immense piece of Sovereign himself could be seen spiraling towards them. Panicked, Liara ran.

The sound when it impacted was deafening. Glass and chunks of debris as big as she was exploded past her, and the shock wave threw her forward. She didn't know where Garrus or the Shepard were, she only knew she was hurtling through the air wondering what that sound was before she realized it was the sound of her own screaming. Curling in a tight ball, Liara flared her biotics into a thick field around her, an act of self-defense to protect herself from harm. At some point, she must have blacked out.

An unknown amount of time later, she found herself whole and unscathed, lying sprawled on the steps. The adrenaline rush was receding, and her hands were shaking. An Alliance search and rescue team was digging through the rubble nearby.

“Anderson! Captain Anderson, we found another one!” a voice was shouting, while comforting hands were lifting her up, and an omnitool was scanning her for injuries.

“The Commander,” Liara was saying. “Where's the Commander? Where's Kaidan?”

“We're still looking for him,” said a familiar deep voice, subharmonics radiating concern. “Thank the spirits you're alright, Liara.”

“Garrus,” Liara managed. “Are you hurt?”

“A little banged up, but my good looks are still intact,” he joked, and Liara smiled. Even when he was worried, Garrus could always manage a joke.

Anderson was pushing his way through the destruction then, relief evident on his features as he saw the two of them there. He couldn't seem to help smiling. “Take it easy,” he told them, as Liara struggled to stand, leaning heavily on Garrus for support. “It's over, you're safe now. Where is the Commander?”

Garrus shook his head sadly, looking back towards worst of the mayhem. The council chambers looked like something from a post-apocalyptic war zone. A kinetic barrier was all that held the atmosphere in as the entire outside wall was decimated, fires burned unchecked, and everywhere, colossal hunks of twisted metal littered the once serene gardens. No one cold have survived that.

Anderson surveyed all this, his mouth a firm line of disbelief. Liara wanted to say something, wanted to tell him Kaidan had already been gone when the destruction hit, but she couldn't seem to find the words. She looked to Garrus, but he was looking miserably at his feet. Liara realized then that his friend the Shepard was missing, as well.

There was a sound, back in the rubble. Garrus lifted his head, listening, and Liara strained her eyes, trying to see what was moving out in the devastation. Anderson looked hopeful. Was it Kaidan? Could he have survived, somehow?

A figure rose from the wreckage, armor blackened, limping slightly. Heat wafting up from the fire distorted it at first, and it was difficult to perceive anything other than the fact that it was bipedal and humanoid. The waves of heat rippled through the air, creating errant breezes that tugged at- she squinted her eyes, just able to make out- disheveled red hair.

Anderson's face fell, then grew suspicious. The Alliance team exchanged puzzled looks, and Liara found herself shaking her head in impressed disbelief. Beside her, Garrus straightened to his full height, practically glowing as he stepped forward to greet the Shepard.


	3. A Reunion

_Six months after the devastating geth attack on the Citadel, the galactic community struggles to rebuild._

_The Alliance fleet made a tremendous sacrifice defending the Destiny Ascension, the flagship of the Citadel fleet carrying the members of the Council on board. Though the Ascension was saved, the Normandy SR1 was lost along with many other Alliance vessels; this heroic defense earned humanity a place on the Council. The Council now struggles to quell the rumors of the Reaper threat, attributing the attack to rogue Spectre Saren Arterius and his geth army._

_Commander Alenko led a successful defense within the Council tower itself, but mysteriously vanished during the battle. He has not been heard from since, and has been officially declared dead. The few who were present, though, know there is more to this story._

_Admiral Anderson still believes his protege is out there, but Councilor Udina obstructs his every attempt to search for him._

_Liara T'Soni searches for the Commander using the black market information network, and has set up operations on Ilium, where the neither the Council nor the Alliance can hinder her._

_Garrus Vakarian, inspired by Commander Alenko's insistence on doing things the right way and not the fast way, returned to his job with Citadel Security._

_And as for the Shepard, shortly after aiding in the defeat of Saren and emerging battered but alive from the wreckage, Garrus turned to find that she'd disappeared, just as she'd always done before. He has had no contact with her since that day._

 

After nearly thirty hours of surveillance, Garrus' vigilance finally paid off: the suspect was making a move. Headed out on foot, the shady looking salarian glanced around nervously as he left the lower class neighborhood he'd been holed up in and headed further down in the the slummier regions of the wards.

Garrus slipped into the shadows, carefully staying out of sight as he tailed him. Schells had been suspected of mostly white-collar crimes and various forms of fraud, and C-Sec had gotten a tip that he was about to sell off a bit of illegal gambling tech he'd been developing. The salarian was small fry, though; if Garrus played his cards right, if Schells was meeting his contact in the black market, maybe Garrus would get the lead he needed to bust the illegal tech ring on the Citadel wide open.

Part of him relished the hunt, riding a little thrill of adrenaline as he stalked the salarian down to a seedy bar so far out on this arm of the wards that a few steps further and they'd fall in to space. But another part of him felt smothered, stagnating. There were dangers out there, real dangers, and illegal tech was only illegal until the corporations figured the best way to turn a profit from them, and then the very tech he was busting a perp for today was being hocked to school kids tomorrow from a sky-van that played yankee-doodle as it pulled up to the curb. This kind of crime was a waste of his time, this kind of criminal barely worth noticing.

Coming back had seemed like the right thing to do. Kaidan's faith in galactic law was inspiring, the man was a true paragon and it was no wonder he'd been chosen as the first human Spectre. But Garrus was swiftly realizing that C-Sec had chafed before because he'd been in the process of outgrowing it, and that was over a year ago. And no matter what the Council said, Garrus was knew the Reapers were real, and he wasn't convinced that stopping Saren had done more than delay their arrival. Every day spent with C-Sec now felt hollow and pointless.

Schells had gone inside the dingy little pub, and Garrus decided to risk being recognized and follow him in. He wasn't in C-Sec light armor, instead favoring a set of medium Colossus armor from Kassa Fabrication that he'd salvaged from a pirate base during his stint on the Normandy. Spirits how he missed that ship, torn to pieces during the battle of the Citadel, though thankfully the bulk of the crew had safely escaped before she went down.

Garrus shook off the wave of sad nostalgia for what was, and slid down the black tinted visor on his helm, heading for the door. He ought to blend right in with the other turian mercs.

The lighting inside was dim, the music muted, and most of the patrons were lost in their cups. Garrus made for the bar, nodded wordlessly to grizzled old turian behind it, cupping his hand in a C and tilting it against his mouth in the universally recognized sign language for “beer me.” Meanwhile, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Schells sitting alone at a table in a back corner, fiddling with his omnitool. Garrus blinked, squinted hard, and realized that Schells mouth was moving.

He was talking. To who? Someone on his omnitool?

The grey salarian inclined his head toward the other side of the table, big green eyes blinking earnestly. Within the shadows on the far side of the table, a figure shifted. Garrus' eyes adjusted further to the dim lights and he was just able to make out a tall, slim shape, definitely not krogan, nor volus either. He observed two long slim legs under the table; bipedal, definitely not a hanar, a clear lack of leg-spurs so not turian either, and with the lower legs at that angle, not a quarian or a salarian. That still left drell, asari, human, batarian, or even a vorcha. If he could just make out a silhouette of the head, he'd be able to at least identify race, possibly even gender.

He needed to get closer. He focused on his drink, not half-bad actually, and casually moved towards an empty table not far from the pair. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the shadowed figure lean forward. Yes, just a little further, into the light and maybe he could get an ID to work off of...

The figure froze; Garrus didn't know what had given him away, but he knew when he'd been made. He could just make out the shape of the head, didn't look like an asari or vorcha profile. The head turned in his direction.

A lock of red hair slipped forward and swung into the light.

Schells cried out, falling backwards as the table was upturned, its contents flying across the floor. Garrus had dropped his drink, reaching for his pistol, but the Shepard was already vaulting the bar and sprinting through the back door. A heartbeat behind her, Garrus slid across the bar, and to his surprise found the turian bartender blocking his path. With a grunt, the other man lowered a shoulder and plowed in to Garrus' chest, shoving him back. Garrus fell against the bar, throwing his hands back and catching himself on its edge; without missing a beat, he braced himself and pulled both legs up, repelling the bartender with a powerful kick just as he charged forward a second time. As the bartender slammed back in to the collection of glass bottles lining the wall, Garrus dashed forward and was out the door in pursuit of Shepard before he could be stopped again.

His heart raced and he grinned fiercely. This night had just gotten a whole lot more interesting.

The alleyway out back was narrow and Garrus instinctively turned toward the only outlet, then hesitated; he looked back, blue eyes sweeping the dirty, junk littered ground. The filth was good for something, though. Garrus could see clear drag marks on the ground beside a plastic garbage receptacle against the wall opposite the door. Gripping his pistol at the ready in both hands, he shoved it aside with his foot. A hole in the wall behind it opened into the next building over; Garrus ducked down and managed to haul his lanky form through it, though it was a squeeze.

Whatever the establishment was before, it was clearly abandoned, and had been for some time. A bluish light from outside was all he had to see by, coming in through low side windows and casting deep black shadows that looked miles long. An assortment of disused mannequins of council races were scattered throughout the room, armless asari and one-legged turians, naked and featureless salarians with one hand saucily on the hip and the other hand gesturing emptily upward.

She could be anywhere in here.

The readout on Garrus' visor didn't help, but then, he didn't expect it to; Shepard would by now have activated her tactical cloak.

“You caught me once before, Vakarian. Surely you don't think you'll get so lucky again.”

He must look a fool, nearly jumping out of his skin and spinning around to look behind him, twisting first left and then right. He couldn't seem to pinpoint precisely where her voice was coming from.

“You don't have to run, Shepard. I'm not after you.” Garrus moved through a doorway, checked both directions quickly. Was that a human silhouette? No, just another asari mannequin, this one missing its head.

“That's funny, because when you were chasing me with a gun in your hand, it sure looked like you were after me.” Her voice seemed to come from the far side of the room.

“And you led me into an unlit shop full of mannequins,” Garrus said, shaking his head. “Really, Shepard? This whole scenario is like a bad horror vid. Are you enjoying this?”

“If you have to choose your battleground, may as well make it somewhere fun,” Shepard answered playfully. Garrus moved cautiously forward, trying to home in on her voice. Just over there, something was moving in the shadows- no, just an old ripped tarp draped over some crates.

“I prefer gardens, or electronics shops, myself,” he replied. “Sometimes antique stores, but only if they're classy.” There was a choked sound behind him, and Garrus spun around, pistol high. Shepard stood just a few feet away, her own weapon trained on his chest- but she was laughing. Her laugh was surprisingly pleasing, throaty and genuine. He felt a sudden desire to make her laugh again, but any further clever words seemed to escape him, so instead he lowered his gun to show her he meant no harm. She responded in kind, and though they both held their weapons ready before them, both muzzles were angled down to the floor.

“So you're not after me,” Shepard said. “What is it you want then?”

“I was tracking Schells, looking for information on black market trade. Running into you was chance.”

“This is a big station. I'm not sure if I believe you.”

“I'm not sure if I really believe it myself.” Garrus dropped his gun the rest of the way, shaking his head slightly at the odds against running in to her. He sensed Shepard relaxing.

“Well if it's information you want, I may be able to help you. For the right price.” Shepard holstered her weapon, apparently deciding to trust him.

“What exactly are you proposing?”

“Care to buy a girl a drink?”

 

“I thought you were looking for information on the black market, not me.”

“Half of what you put in your file when I brought you in is bullshit, and I want to know the truth. Who are you?” Shepard and Garrus faced off across the dingy table over a several empty pint glasses while they waited for the next round.

“No one of consequence,” Shepard quipped, smiling. Just then, the turian bartender approached, boots loudly crunching through the broken glass on the sticky floor of the pub. He gave Garrus a threatening look as he deposited two pints of beer on the table. Shepard shook her head warningly at him, and though he did not stop glaring at Garrus, he left without a word. Shepard sighed.

“What's with him,” Garrus said with a nod at the retreating figure. “He's acting like I was the one who trashed his bar, when I believe it was you who flipped the table.”

“And you were the one who sent him crashing into his top-shelf hard liquor, so don't go acting innocent,” Shepard replied, but she was smiling fondly at the turian bartender, who had gone back to cleaning up the mess behind the bar. “Alrik is just an old friend.” Garrus was a trained investigator, and his shrewd look proved he sensed a story there, but he seemed disinclined to pursue it for the time being. He took a long pull from the turian brew, it's golden tint catching the light as he tilted the glass, then gave Shepard a narrow-eyed look.

“I checked Alliance records for Earth and every major human colony and I can't find you anywhere. At least tell me if Jane Shepard is your real name, and we'll talk about your friend over there on another date.”

Shepard hoped the the dim lights would mask the slight flush that rose to her cheeks. When he said “another date” he likely meant another day on the calendar, and not another evening spent together getting to know one another. Not that she would mind if he did. She sipped at the dark brown porter ale in her glass as she considered how to answer his question. Alrik brewed his own beers, dextro and levo, and this was particularly tasty batch, with a thick sweet foam on top that had Shepard smacking her lips.

“Jane was the best I could come up with on short notice,” she told Garrus, finally. “Back on Earth, I was just another Jane Doe baby girl left on the doorstep of a youth home.”

Garrus blinked in surprise. “Oh. I- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-”

Shepard held up a hand to stop his stuttered response. “No need to apologize, Vakarian. That was a long time ago, and I'm way past the abandonment issues.”

“Then where did 'Shepard' come from?”

“'Jane Doe' is what humans call a person without a name. I never liked it, so I left it behind when I left the youth home,” Shepard hesitated, remembering those first few lonely weeks, a nameless kid with nothing but the clothes on her back.

“Is that when you came to the Citadel?” he asked.

“No,” Shepard said softly, hovering on the verge of telling him more and wondering why part of her wanted to so much while another part of her reminded her that this was a cop she was talking to. After a moment of struggle, the former won out.

“I ran with a street gang back on Earth, for a while. They just called me 'Little Red,'” Shepard said, tugging at her distinctive locks for emphasis. “The gang was called the Tenth Street Reds and I guess they felt like that made me their lucky charm. They kept me around because I was small and cute, and people were less likely to be suspicious of me. It was the closest thing I had to a family, for a while, but eventually I got sick of it. I used to dream about joining the Alliance.”

“Really? What happened, how did you end up here?”

“I was maybe ten or eleven, and I was on my way down to the recruitment depot, there was this old retired Alliance guy there who'd buy the street kids hot dogs sometimes from a cart on the curb outside. But then this friend wanted me to come down to the space dock with him, he was sure we could stow away on one of the shuttles heading to the Citadel, and I used to dream about here, too. I'd see it on the vids and it looked so beautiful. Every human wanted to come to the Citadel back then, they acted like the streets were paved with eezo. You know, sometimes I still wonder how things might have been different if I had just gone the other way and let him go to the Citadel without me. If I had stayed on Earth... maybe I would have ended up in the Alliance. Who knows?”

“I'm not sure I could picture you in uniform,” Garrus said with amusement.

“Oh? So what am I wearing when you picture me?”

“Armor,” Garrus answered without hesitation. “Heavy armor.”

Shepard laughed, and Garrus smiled, looking pleased with himself. “By the way, the merc armor looks good on you, Vakarian. But I like you better in blue. Matches your eyes.”

“On the topic of armor, how did you recognize me earlier?” Garrus asked, completely oblivious to her flirting. _Play hard to get if you want_ , she thought.

“I would know that walk anywhere. You swagger, Vakarian, and don't pretend you don't know it.”

“Aha,” Garrus said, looking slightly embarrassed. Shepard watched him coyly as he attempted to cover his discomfiture by drinking heavily from his lager. After a brief but comfortable silence, he spoke again. “You never said where 'Shepard' came from,” he said, returning to the original topic.

“I was a lonely orphan who had to take care of herself,” she told him. She wasn't sure if she wanted to go into the details of how disappointing the Citadel was in actuality when she'd arrived, nearly as bad as the streets of Earth only this time there were no Reds to help her and she was surrounded by strange and hostile aliens. They had been dark times, scuttling through the ducts with the other forgotten children, just trying to make it to the next meal; always looking for a safe place to rest where you wouldn't be snatched up from your sleep and sold to batarian slavers so some creep could get his next hit of red sand. “I took care of myself better than a lot of other kids could, and I started looking out for some of the others. I got older and better at what I did, took more and more kids under my wing. 'The Shepard' was just a name the locals gave me. For all my good deeds.” Shepard took another sip of her ale, then leaned in, looking Garrus in the eye. “I put Jane on those forms back at C-Sec because I didn't know what else to do, but that's not my name. Jane Doe is a label they slap on something unwanted. Shepard is a name I earned, and it's the only name that matters.”

Garrus nodded. “Understood,” he acknowledged.

“Let's talk about you, Vakarian.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. What are you doing back here? Back at C-Sec? Why have they got you slinking around dark alleys in the wards? Shouldn't you have been promoted after the attack? You were a Spectre's right hand during the defense of the Council Tower, you took down Saren...” Shepard trailed off, one hand emptily gesturing as her brain struggled to comprehend how someone so obviously capable was getting stuck on worse assignments than he'd had before.

“If I happen to recall correctly, you helped. A little,” Garrus said slyly. Shepard snorted.

“You recall incorrectly, unless you recall the part where I saved your ass.”

“After I saved yours.”

“Fine, I'll give you that. You're avoiding the question. Why aren't you a damn Spectre or something by now?” Shepard was genuinely confused. “I mean... doesn't black market tech seem kind of... petty? You're wasting yourself.”

“You aren't asking me anything I haven't asked myself. Back on the Normandy, with Kaidan, it all seemed so much clearer. I've never seen a man who acted with so much integrity, he was really making a difference. When the Normandy was lost, when Kaidan was lost, I-” Garrus sighed heavily. “I didn't know what to do. I wanted to keep doing the right thing, and I wondered what Kaidan would say. He'd tell me to keep doing good, and I thought C-Sec was the way to do that. But since I've been back, it's just been the same bureaucratic bullshit that pissed me off in the first place. Worse, even. Every time I try to get something done, there are a hundred and thirty-seven regulations to tell me why I can't. It's like they're _trying_ to bury me.”

“I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. The Normandy's antics and Reaper Theory aren't spoken of in polite company these days,” Shepard said. From what she'd seen in the information networks, it looked like the missing Spectre's whole crew had been scattered to the four winds, given crap assignments, and were generally being stifled and dismissed. The campaign of covering up the truth was taking it's toll, and judging by Garrus' exhausted face, he too was beginning to feel that pressure. Perhaps they thought if they buried him, he'd keep quiet; whatever the reason, she could see that his work at C-Sec was breaking him, and she didn't like it. “Noble though your intentions may have been, maybe coming back to the Citadel wasn't the right thing for you. They're never going to let you get anything done around here.”

“You know of a place where I can eliminate the criminal element without bringing the local law down on my head?” he asked sarcastically.

“Matter of fact,” Shepard said with a devious smile, “I do.”

 

The first thing that hit Garrus as he exited the shuttle was the smell. The reek of unwashed bodies, moldering garbage, and organic waste combined with a pervasive metallic burning coming from the eezo mines far overhead. With a sneer of distaste, he pulled his helm on and closed the visor, letting the suit filter out the worst of it. Behind him, Shepard laughed, but the sound was slightly muffled, and he turned to see that she, too, had pulled on a helmet as if headed for EVA. Through the tinted panel over her eyes, he could just make out the bluish glow of her Kuwashi visor; she hadn't taken it off once since he'd seen her.

“You and I are guilty of too much clean living,” she said ruefully. It comforted him, somewhat, that even a hardened criminal like the Shepard found Omega distasteful.

_“Omega. You must be joking,”_ he'd said, back on the Citadel.

_“I don't waste my humor making jokes to turians.”_

What had he been thinking, agreeing to this? Walking away from a lawful career to come to this cesspool at the suggestion of the very criminal he'd spent years tracking? But she had made sense that night, across the dirty table in the rundown pub at the far edge of the lower wards.

_“Rules and order create patterns, and once you see the patterns, you can see how to get around them. People like me, we don't get caught because we can see the loopholes. We know how to take advantage of the system. The only ones being stopped by law are the law enforcement.”_

Clearly law and order weren't going to be a hindrance in this place. As Garrus and Shepard exited the docking bay, heading into an open area that might be called a “promenade” somewhere that wasn't crawling with lowlifes and thugs, a fight broke out not twenty feet away between a vorcha and a batarian. Shepard's shields went up with a flicker, and Garrus followed suit, and not a moment too soon. An instant later, weapons were drawn, stray bullets flying in every direction. Shepard pulled him by the arm around a corner and out of harm's way. Other passerby barely acknowledged the fight, except to give the scuffling pair a wide berth. Garrus found it was easier than he'd thought it would be to counter his cop's instinct to step in. Just as well, too. Before long, the vorcha was stripping the valuables off the batarian, who lay bleeding out, not quite dead yet but too far gone to fight back.

“So now what?” Garrus asked, turning to Shepard. She gave an eloquent and altogether unhelpful shrug.

“Now? Anything you want,” she said. “There's nothing to stop you here, no rules and regulations, no C-Sec, just a lot of criminals and one rule: don't fuck with Aria.”

“I hadn't planned on it,” Garrus responded drily. There was a full criminal profile on the Pirate Queen of Omega back at C-Sec, of course, so he knew all about her. But seeing as how she never left Omega, all the intel in the galaxy didn't change the fact that she was untouchable. Not that anyone wanted to go after her; there were easier ways to get yourself killed. “I meant you, Shepard. What are you doing now?”

He wasn't sure what he wanted her to say. That they'd team up and rid Omega of crime together? Even in his head, the thought was absurd, but he'd grown used to her company during the week long trip here. She was a criminal, certainly, but he'd come to realize she wasn't a bad person. He'd always respected 'The Shepard: Infamous Citadel Crime Lord,' but now that he'd gotten to know 'Shepard: The Person,' he found he more than respected her. Hell, he admired her.

_“I do what I do to look out for those who can't,”_ she'd told him. _“There are a lot of good people on Omega who have no way out, no way to improve their lot in life, and no one to look out for them. If I wasn't committed to the people I take care of on the Citadel, that's where I'd be. The merc organizations that run that place just take advantage people who have no where else to go, and there is no one to step in on their behalf.”_

They had been walking in step, both alert, but now she stopped and moved a few paces away, her body-language clearly indicating a parting of the ways. Garrus suddenly felt exposed. It was amazing how quickly he'd gotten used to having someone watching his back; he hadn't partnered well back at C-Sec and they had eventually left him to pursue cases on his own. How, in so short a time, had he come to trust the human woman so much?

“I have my own reasons for coming to Omega, but you know I operate on the Citadel. I won't be staying here long,” Shepard said. He tried and failed to meet her eyes behind her darkened visor, but he could make out her mouth, just then pulling into a somewhat suggestive smile. “I'll miss your company, Vakarian. The nights are sure going to be a lot lonelier.”

Garrus was startled in to a nervous guffaw, and eyed her sideways, trying to determine how to take this statement.

They'd been sharing a bunk on the overcrowded transport here, but it had never been anything... intimate. There was nothing remotely romantic about a cargo hold lined with narrow bunks like a recruit barracks, where each bunk held one or two shady looking mercs in full armor with weapons close at hand. Garrus had opted to act very professional about the situation, treating Shepard like just another soldier, as one might have back in the turian military. Likewise, she had declined to comment on the mornings they had woken up curled together like lovers, legs intertwined, her head tucked under his chin and his arms casually encircling her waist. Being in full armor, with their rifles cradled between them, certainly took away from the illusion. Her statement, though, implied that those nights might have been on her mind as much as they were on his.

“Shepard,” he started, not sure what he was going to say.

“There's my contact,” she said, cutting him off, attention caught by something behind him. She reached up, placed a hand hesitantly on chest. “I'll see you again, Garrus.” She appeared to be searching his face for something, though it was hard to read her expression behind the visor. Then she pulled away, moving past him, and disappearing in to the crowd before he had time to respond.

Moving in the opposite direction, Garrus allowed himself to pulled along with flow of people towards what appeared to be a market district. Glancing back over his shoulder, he was just able to spot Shepard one last time. She was deep in conversation with what he assumed was the contact she was here to meet; a nondescript human man in a black and white uniform with a yellow logo. He hoped it wouldn't be too long before he saw her again.

It dawned on him, suddenly, that she'd called him 'Garrus' for only the second time since he'd met her. He allowed his mandibles to pull in to a smile, deciding he liked it.

 

The views of space from Omega were the one thing the Citadel lacked. The Citadel generated a lot of light pollution, especially the closer you got to the Presidium ring; meanwhile, Omega was mostly dark or lit with a soft reddish glow, barely dimming the glory of the surrounding stars. From virtually anywhere on Omega, provided you weren't way up in the core of the asteroid working the eezo mines, you could see the distant white lights hanging in the cold black beauty of space, a constant night sky surrounding the turbulent violence, looking on with passionless detachment.

But Shepard wasn't here to admire the view.

It had been a good six months since she'd left Vakarian on the criminal infested station, and though she had tried to keep tabs on him, she had completely lost track of the man. She wasn't worried though; he was one tough sonofabitch and he knew how to take care of himself.

Still, she couldn't stop herself from searching the crowd milling around outside Afterlife, hoping to spot that distinctive swagger; looking into the face of every turian she passed, watching for distinctive blue colony markings, a nose wrinkled in thought; luck did not seem to be on her side, however.

She'd made a risky move, infiltrating a shady, pro-human organization at the request of an old friend. Shepard made a call as she walked away from the latest clandestine meeting with yet another expressionless human agent in black, white, and yellow.

“Are you sure this intel is good?” she asked by way of greeting when he picked up the line, not bothering with pleasantries. She was rather uncomfortable with the whole situation.

“I trust my source. This is personal for her.”

 _Her_ , Shepard mused to herself. Well there was only one woman who had been in the center of action who was currently brokering information. “T'Soni,” she stated matter-of-factually.

“You’re well-informed, Shepard.”

“Remind me again, Hackett, why I care what happened to your precious Spectre.” Liara T'Soni had been on the job of tracking down the missing Kaidan Alenko for the better part of a year. It seemed she had tipped the Admiral off to a possible lead within the extremist group Shepard now found herself reluctantly working with.

“The Alliance isn’t in favor of leaving one of our best and brightest in the hands of a terrorist organization,” Hackett stated.

“Then why not send the Alliance? Why me?”

“Official channels can’t get the things done that you can, Shepard. You are my top non-Alliance operative. I trust you.” Shepard was glad they were on an audio-only channel as she felt a flush of pride and a stupid grin chasing each other across her face. _I trust you_ , he'd said. She still felt like a worthless duct rat most of the time, a rootless criminal, but she tried to do good and here was the head of the Alliance military, a goddamn war hero after the Battle of the Citadel, saying he trusted her. Hackett was still talking though, and Shepard brought her attention back to his words. “...which brings me to the good news.”

Well, that could only mean one thing, a ridiculous idea Hackett had tossed out the last time they'd spoken. “The Council actually approved this insane idea of yours?” Shepard asked, incredulous.

“Not officially, no.” It was well-known that the new human Councilor, Udina, was looking for candidates who were biddable and easy for him to manipulate, and that the candidates favored by Captain Anderson were as idealistic as Kaidan Alenko had been. When Hackett had proposed the idea to Shepard, he'd said plainly that he was looking for someone who got results. “I went through a back door into the program,” Hackett continued. “All we needed was clearance from an established operative, and your old friend Tela Vasir was more than willing to approve you.”

“Vasir?” Shepard asked. The asari had owed a big favor to Shepard, which Hackett may have inadvertently just cashed in on. Ah well. “I don't need to report for duty or anything, do I? That's not really my style, and besides, it may take me some time to find out what Cerberus did with your prodigal son.”

“Whatever actions you deem necessary.”

“And none of it will be held against me?” Shepard could well-imagine the less-than-legal things Cerberus might have her doing in the coming months.

“That’s why we got you in to the program. Congratulations, Shepard. You are officially the second human Spectre.”

 

 


	4. The Return of the Spectre

In all his life, Garrus had never felt so weak. His breath seemed to burn in his chest, rasping in and out; he blinked rapidly, trying to keep his eyes clear, to stay awake. He focused on his father's voice as he peered down the scope at the next wave of hostiles preparing to rush the building he was holed up in, wondering if this was going to be it; it had been days, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep this up.

“No matter how bad things are falling apart around you, as long as you have at least one bullet left, you can still get the job done. Understand?” His father's voice reflected the man speaking; firm, unyielding.

Garrus' eyes skimmed the crowd of assorted freelance mercs milling around just behind the barriers at the far end of the bridge. A trio of humans caught his attention, disciplined and efficient looking. In his time on Omega he'd learned to recognize the logos of every criminal organization that did business on the station, from small-time locals like the Talons to merc bands like the Blood Pack that operated all along the breadth of the Terminus systems. Two of the humans were in black and white armor emblazoned with a distinctive yellow logo. Why was Cerberus after him? He hadn't done anything to them. Lately.

“You finish up what you have to do there,” his father was saying, voice carrying clearly across the intervening lightyears, from the homeworld to the tiny communicator built into Garrus' visor, “and then you come on home to Palaven. We have a lot to sort out.”

The third human was in blue. Garrus adjusted the focus on the scope, trying to make out the faint white logo on his shoulder. No... it couldn't be...

“Yeah, we do. Thanks Dad. For everything,” Garrus answered his father, an unexpected wave of adrenaline surging through his system. “I have to go now. Don't worry about me... I'll make it home when I can. The odds just got a lot better.” The average criminal might not recognize the slashed white 'V' of a Spectre logo when they saw one, but Garrus sure did.

And there was only one human Spectre he knew of.

 

Images flickered through Garrus' mind as he fell in and out of consciousness; his father, teaching him how to shoot; the day he'd graduated from C-Sec Academy; the look of defiance on the Shepard's face when he'd captured her; a green asari clone emerging from a massive, sentient plant; waking up with his face inches from the Shepard, breathing in her warm, musky scent; Kaidan Alenko approaching, arms wide and a smile on his face, flanked by two Cerberus agents; his shields being taken down by bullets, and a gunship's rocket flying at his face, followed by pain, oh the pain...

He awoke with a start, jerking upright.

“Relax, Garrus, you're safe,” said a familiar stern but comforting voice, a hand pushing his shoulder back down. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. Some sort of medical facility, reminiscent of the old Normandy med-bay; his face felt strange.

“Dr. Chakwas?”

“Yes, it's me,” she replied “I see not much has changed about your reckless behavior in the past two years, Garrus. Frankly, I don't know how you've managed to stay alive.” Garrus was still struggling to sit up, and Chakwas finally released his shoulder and allowed him to do so. He couldn't feel his face at all on the right side; reaching up, his fingers brushed bandaging. Dr. Chakwas caught his hand. “Give it time, Garrus. It will heal. There will be some scarring, but we've saved your sight in that eye. Your hearing was badly damaged, though, and we had to use some cybernetics to compensate. I'll be monitoring you closely while you're on the Normandy.”

“The Normandy?”

Dr. Chakwas smiled gently. “Yes,” she said, “the SR2. The Commander will be wanting to speak with you. It's been several days since your... accident. It wasn't safe to wake you until now.” Garrus moved carefully, but his extremities seemed to be uninjured, if a little weak, as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and slowly shifted his weight onto his feet. “If you experience any discomfort, don't hesitate to let me know. My comms are always open.”

Garrus nodded gratefully to his old friend. He started towards the doors, but Chakwas stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm. “The Commander... is not himself, Garrus,” she murmured softly, though they were the only two in the room. “I worry for him.”

“What do you mean?”

“Working with Cerberus is,” and she paused again, her face hesitant. “...it's not like him,” Chakwas ended, brows drawing together. “I don't know much yet, but suffice to say, I'm glad to see you back. Kaidan needs someone he can trust at his side. Look after him, won't you?”

“Of course,” Garrus answered, though he was still rather confused by her cryptic remarks.

Exiting the med-bay, he paused for a moment in the mess hall, trying to wrap his head around a room that seemed both familiar and alien. The layout was like the Normandy, but not quite, somehow larger and cleaner and brighter. Humans in black and white Cerberus dress hustled about, looking sidelong at him, but no one approached.

If the layout was based on the design of the old Normandy, the comm room would be up one floor. Garrus made for the stairs, only to find himself staring at a women's restroom door. Great.

“Officer Vakarian,” chimed a warm, feminine voice. “If you are looking for Commander Alenko, he is in the conference room on the command deck. The lift is located to your left.”

“Ah... thank you,” Garrus answered. “Are you the ship's VI? The old Normandy didn't have one.”

“I am the Normandy's artificial intelligence. The crew like to refer to me as 'EDI,'” came the disembodied voice as Garrus stepped in to the elevator. He stiffened in surprise, eyes widening. AIs were _illegal_. He swiftly corrected his initial reaction, however; they were illegal in Citadel space, but they were in the Terminus Systems, at least so far as he knew. Old C-Sec habits died hard, though; illegal tech, a terrorist group, and Dr. Chakwas' faint warnings were all coalescing together in the back of his mind and an uneasy feeling started brewing in his gut.

“Thank you, EDI,” Garrus managed cordially. The lift doors opened, just then, and Garrus could only stare at the sight before him.

The new and improved CIC was a thing of beauty, without a doubt. A detailed galaxy map twice the size of the old one dominated the room, currently tracking the Normandy's progress through the projected star field. The room seemed massive, bustling with Cerberus techs, the all-human crew manning banks of screens along the edges of the galaxy map, the outer walls, even lining the hall at the far end of the room leading toward the cockpit. The crew of this ship must be three times that of the SR-1.

“The conference room is through the armory to your left, Officer Vakarian,” EDI chimed helpfully as Garrus found himself motionless on the threshold of the lift, gazing absently around at the hub of activity.

“Ah. Thank you again. EDI. And please, it's ah... just Garrus.”

“Very well, Garrus.”

Garrus turned in the direction EDI had indicated, wondering what else was in store for him.

 

The initial meet and greet with Kaidan over, Garrus toured the ship. He found himself quite smitten with the main battery; it was relatively quiet, free of the ever-present Cerberus crew, and he felt certain he could contribute to the improvement of the new ship's offensive capabilities.

It had been reassuring to see Joker again at the Normandy's helm, though he appeared to have no qualms about Cerberus. _Whoever will let him fly_ , Garrus thought to himself. Joker had been grounded after the SR-1 had been lost, and held himself largely responsible for not being able to get her to safety during the Battle of the Citadel, never mind the number of ships that were lost that day defending the Ascension. Garrus had also met the friendly, easy-going Jacob Taylor; been given an icy questioning that bordered on an interrogation by Miranda Lawson, who appeared to be calling all the shots; he'd met with the cheerful orange-haired Yeoman Kelly Chambers; exchanged a cautious but respectful nod with Zaeed Massani, a man he knew by reputation, if not personally; and encountered the only other alien crew member, a salarian by the name of Mordin Solus, who he knew had been running a free clinic in the Omega slums, and who he already respected for that deed alone.

Garrus, at Kaidan's request, made his way to the top deck of the SR-2, the one place he had not been yet. Stepping through the double doors, he couldn't help but shake his head at the sight of the roomy loft with its plush king sized bed and its massive fish tank. A turian ship would never deck itself out so luxuriously; not that Garrus even remotely disapproved. The Commander's quarters were rather impressive.

Kaidan was hunched over a desk to the right, idly scrolling through a datapad. A neat stack of identical datapads sat to his left, a framed picture of a familiar dark haired woman on his right.

“Have you heard from Ash?” Garrus asked, nodding towards the photo.

Kaidan looked up at the sound of his voice, then glanced at the picture. A flicker of emotion crossed his face, and he exhaled softly through his nose. “No. We're making for the Citadel now; Anderson has been working with Udina as a liaison there, and I'm hoping he'll have some word of her.”

“I don't want to pry, Kaidan but... what happened?” Garrus asked the question that had been gnawing at him since Kaidan's reappearance. “Where have you been?”

Kaidan's mouth compressed and his brows pulled together, his whole demeanor turning to stone. “I can't-” he started, then seemed to wince in pain. “I can't really say. I'm sorry Garrus, now is just not a good time to discuss it. It's not why I called you up here.”

“What did you need, Commander?” Garrus asked, unconsciously falling back on formality in the face of Kaidan's rebuff.

“A second opinion from someone I trust,” he said with a wry smile, gesturing at the stack of data pads. “Chambers has dozens of dossiers for specialists with skills that might be beneficial to our mission. If we're going to stop the Collectors, I need a strong squad. I need to know my team is going to have my back.” Kaidan sighed wearily, leaning back in his chair and stretching his spine out, vertebrae popping loudly. Garrus took up the stack of datapads and started shuffling through them. They were organized alphabetically, and he pulled the one marked “Archangel” off the top and tossed it aside.

“Well we can cross that one off the list,” he said. Kaidan smiled.

“You have no idea how glad I am you turned out to be... you. The first guy I picked up was Zaeed, and I'm not too proud to say he scares me. Mordin was necessary, because of his background in biological weapons. But look at the rest of those dossiers, Garrus,” Kaidan said, standing up and pacing. “Thieves, mercenaries, assassins... they expect me to recruit from these people? Who can I possibly trust in there?”

Nearly to the bottom of the stack, Garrus had stopped when he reached the letter “S.” He pulled a datapad out, smiling softly.

“Actually, I know exactly where we can start.”

 

“You look like shit.”

“Kiss your mother with that mouth?” Shepard asked, shouldering her way through the swinging kitchen door and depositing several parcels on the counter. “Keep up that kind of talk and I'll just take these goodies back where I found them.”

“I'm not kidding, Shepard,” Alrik said, concern all over his turian features. He grabbed her chin between thumb and forefinger, angling her head towards him. “What exactly did those terrorist assholes do to you?”

Scars lined Shepard's jaw and forehead, some cutting jaggedly outward from her eyes; they glowed a faint, angry red. She knew it wasn't pretty to look at, but the Cerberus doctor had assured her that they would close up over time. “Relax, Alrik. I volunteered for some experimental cybernetic enhancements. It'll heal,” Shepard said, jerking her head away. “Now do you want to see what I've brought you or not?”

Alrik did not appear to be at all appeased by her reassurances, but allowed her to change the subject. “Is it those hops you've been promising me?”

“Straight from the harvest on the agricultural colony I told you about,” Shepard said, opening one of the cartons with a flourish. The acrid tang of fresh hops filled the air in Alrik's small, dingy kitchen. “These are the cascade hops, seeded from Earth, but those ones in the blue container are genetically modified to be dextro-compatible, and they weren't cheap so I hope you appreciate this.”

Alrik looked impressed in spite of himself, a rare smile pulling at his mandibles. Since the death of his wife, he'd become constantly dour, and given his already intimidating skull-like facial tattoos, his unsmiling ways had given him a reputation as someone not to be trifled with. But Shepard adored him, all the same, and found herself smiling fondly at him as he began excitedly rattling off the concoctions he intended to brew in the coming days.

Just then, a tiny figure rocketed through the swinging door and hurtled in to Shepard's gut, nearly toppling her. A pair of thin arms encircled her waist in a vice-like grip, and tousled orange head attempted to bury itself in her solar plexus.

“Hey, Candy,” Shepard said gently, softly stroking the girl's hair. Candace tilted her head back, and looked up at Shepard with huge brown eyes. “I missed you too. Have you been being good?”

Candace nodded solemnly. Her smiles were as rare as Alrik's.

“She's not as much trouble as you were, that's for sure,” Alrik grumbled.

“Well, I have a gift for you, too,” Shepard said, disengaging herself from the girl. A moment of of rifling in large tote that hung from her shoulder and she came up with a small, silver case. Candace clapped excitedly, as Shepard popped the lid off to reveal a petite Stiletto VII pistol. The tiny gun was made for upper-class women, small enough to be concealed in a purse and with minimal kick, because spirit's forbid they should break a nail. These factors just so happened to also make it ideal for a child; Shepard had been given something similar by Alrik himself when she was a young girl.

Candace's eyes had gone wide, her mouth a tiny 'o' of surprise.

“You've been practicing, haven't you? Like I taught you?” Shepard asked. Candace nodded, eyes still on the gun. “Then here,” she said, closing the case and handing it to the girl. “Grab some practice rounds and take it out back. Be safe.” Candace scampered off, clutching the silver case to her chest.

With a sigh, Shepard heaved her tote on the counter beside the small crates of hops. She could feel the scowl on her face, but she didn't know what she was expecting. “She still not talking, then?” she asked.

“Not a peep,” Alrik said, shaking his head. “Except when she has the nightmares; then she screams fit to wake the neighbors.”

Shepard compressed her lips in a thin line. She'd hoped bringing the girl here, to the somewhat stable environment of the home of the man who'd been like a father to her, would help; but the traumatic events of the day of the Citadel attack ran deep. They had never learned what happened when Candace and Jordan had fled the Presidium that day. Candace had turned up, soaked in blood, and Jordan had never been found. Candace hadn't spoken since.

“I suppose it's not something we can rush,” Shepard said, wanting to do something but not knowing what. In spite of being the self-declared caretaker of hundreds of children, she was more invested in Candace than any other. Jordan and Robert had died that day, along with dozens of her other kids in areas all over the station, and Candace had been psychologically scarred; dead though he might be, she still hated Saren for that. She was damned if she wasn't going to see Candace grow to be a strong, healthy woman who could defend herself.

Alrik's three-fingered hand was on her shoulder. “It wasn't your fault, you know,” he said comfortingly.

Shepard sneered angrily. “Yes. It was.”

Alrik knew better than to push her, and his hand dropped from her shoulder. “Well, at least Candy stays. I never knew whether or not you'd be here in the morning, when you were a kid.”

“I was a bit older than Candy, and I knew how to take care of myself. I only came around because Marissa's cooking was so good,” Shepard said. “I didn't think you liked me back then, you know. You kept changing the access codes on the door while I was gone.”

“Human brat, you just kept hacking them anyhow,” the turian teased. Shepard laughed.

“It's a good thing I've always kept those tech skills sharp. You heard about that security upgrade that makes omnigel hacking obsolete?”

“I did.”

“Now the wannabe hackers have been sifted out from the real experts, my skills are in fairly high demand.”

“That's why I never see you anymore? And here I thought you'd run off with that cop.”

Shepard turned and started digging in to her tote, trying to hide her blush. She wished she'd run off with Garrus, when she'd had the chance, but she hadn't seen hide nor hair- _fringe_ she self-corrected, _turians don't have hair_ \- of him in well over a year. Having hit a wall in Cerberus while trying to track down the missing Spectre, she'd relayed what little information she had to Admiral Hackett via Liara T'Soni, then left the organization. A slew of independent jobs later, she was relieved to be back “home” here on the Citadel.

“Do you mind if I borrow your shower?” Shepard asked, pulling out several small bottles of toiletries from her bag. “The transport I came in on was using recycled water, and lets just say their filtration system could use some servicing.”

“You know where it is Shepard, I don't know why you bother asking me anything anymore.”

“Because I still respect you, even if you are an ass.” Shepard prodded Alrik in the chest as she passed him on her way down the hall. “I might be awhile, keep an eye on Candy with that new pistol, will you?”

 

“Well, that could have gone better,” Garrus remarked as he and Kaidan left Anderson's office.

Kaidan shrugged helplessly. “I should have expected to get stonewalled,” he said. “The Reapers are the real threat and the Council refuses to even acknowledge their existence, much less give us any support going after the Collectors. Why can't they see the good that Cerberus is doing?”

Garrus looked askance at his friend; the words seemed so strange coming from Kaidan's mouth. They had witnessed firsthand the brutal experiments Cerberus had been conducting during their pursuit of Saren all those years ago, and there was no way Kaidan could possibly believe his own words. But it wasn't the first time he'd uttered something along those lines, referring to Cerberus as humanity's only hope, or calling them a force for good. The words, though, were spoken without conviction, and his eyes took on a glassy look when he said them. Garrus was growing more and more certain that Dr. Chakwas had been right; there was more going on here than met the eye.

“I said as much, Commander. You should have listened to me,” said Miranda from Kaidan's other side. Miranda, the other part of the equation that Garrus was still trying to work out. She was thoughtful, intelligent, a proficient biotic who also knew how to handle a gun, and Garrus had come to respect her. He didn't, however, entirely trust her; she followed Kaidan like a shadow, and though she claimed she was his second-in-command, she often issued orders as though he weren't even in the room and with the expectation that they be carried out immediately. The kicker was that Kaidan never countermanded or questioned this, sitting back with a glazed look on his face. There was definitely something going on, and Garrus was determined to get to the bottom of it.

The first step, though, was to start increasing the numbers of non-Cerberus staff on the SR-2. Kaidan already seemed more himself when Garrus, Joker, and Dr. Chakwas were with him. That was a start.

They approached the rapid transit terminal, and Miranda started to dial in their destination as the docking bay. Garrus cleared his throat. She froze, looking icily over her shoulder at him, and he pointedly turned to Kaidan.

“Where to next, Commander?” he asked. “Should we seek out that other recruit who is supposed to be aboard the Citadel?”

Kaidan nodded. “That's right. The Shepard. We can check out that bar Chambers mentioned as a starting point.”

Garrus stepped past Miranda to the rapid transit terminal, reprogramming the destination. “I happen to know the place.”

 

The bar was closed when they arrived, and wouldn't be open for several more hours. Unfazed, Miranda checked Citadel records for the owner, Alrik Valyrn, and located his domicile nearby.

As the trio approached, gunfire was heard. Garrus already had his shields up, this being a rather seedy neighborhood, and saw the blue flicker of Kaidan and Miranda throwing up barriers. All three took their pistols in hand and moved forward cautiously. Another shot. Another.

“Good,” said a male voice, the distinctive flanging identifying it as that of a turian. “Again. Try and keep both eyes open.” Another shot rang out.

Garrus lowered his gun, though he didn't holster it. Kaidan nodded, stepping around the corner of the humble housing unit, flanked on either side by Garrus and Miranda. In the dingy sideyard crouched Alrik, the turian bartender Garrus had seen the night he'd found Shepard at the bar. A row of empty cans stood on a crate roughly ten yards away, and he was showing a tiny, human girl how to line up a shot with a small handgun. The girl spotted them first, and tugged the turian's sleeve to get his attention. Looking up, he immediately assumed a surly expression and thoroughly belligerent stance.

“Go inside,” he said to the girl as he eyeballed the newcomers, and she scampered through a side door. His gaze locked on Garrus. “You.”

“Friend of yours?” Kaidan asked Garrus with an arched eyebrow.

“We've... run into each other,” Garrus replied. Alrik snorted.

“What do you want, C-Sec? State your business or be on your way,” he called out. Garrus could see that though his arms were loose at his sides, he still held the small pistol.

“I'm not with C-Sec anymore,” Garrus stated, holding his hands out in front of him, palms out, to show he meant no harm. “I'm looking for a mutual friend.” He could feel Miranda's gaze boring into the side of his head, which he had to assume was due to his use of the word “friend.” His one-time arrest of Shepard was a matter of record, but their further activities beyond that point were known only to the two of them.

“She's not here,” Alrik answered bluntly. “Leave.”

Just then, a small window on one side of the house, probably a bathing room window, slid open a crack. A billow of steam rolled out, carrying a familiar sweet musky scent, and a woman's voice could be heard faintly singing.

Garrus looked pointedly at the window, then back at Alrik. “You sure about that?”

“That's my wife,” Alrik said, his face expressionless.

“Records show your wife is deceased,” said Miranda, standing with her omnitool open. She blinked, and her lip curled nearly imperceptibly in faint disgust. “You had a human wife? That's highly unusual.”

“That is none of your damn business,” Alrik growled, visibly angry. He took a step back and raised the pistol, pointing it at them. “I said leave.”

Garrus, Kaidan, and Miranda, all brought their weapons up in response to the other turian's hostility. The singing had stopped, and for a moment deadly silence hung in the air as the single, aged turian faced off defiantly with the three heavily armored people in front of him.

That was when Shepard herself came bursting through the side door, probably tipped off by the young girl. Her wet hair was twisted back in a hasty knot, and she was jerking her Kuwashi visor onto her head with one hand while the other held a pistol at the ready. She was also fully armored, and Garrus took a moment to be impressed at how fast she must have pulled it on.

He raised his hands again in a peaceful gesture, pistol held loosely and pointed upward, and a moment later Kaidan followed suit, though Miranda kept her gun trained on Alrik. “Shepard,” Garrus said, trying to suppress the happiness in his voice at the sight of her.

“Vakarian?” She looked stunned, but had lowered her gun.

“It's been a long time.”

“Too long,” Shepard answered, a smile playing around the corners of her lips. Was she actually as happy to see him as he was to see her? Garrus felt a warmth spreading in his chest at the thought. Shepard was examining his companions, and her eyes locked on Kaidan.

“The lost Spectre,” she said, then glanced over at Miranda. “So Cerberus did have you all along.”

“Shepard,” Miranda said. “The Illusive Man was disappointed when you left; he had high hopes for you.”

It was Garrus' turn to stare at Miranda; he'd had no idea the she and Shepard had history. At best, a brief association with Cerberus, but never that she'd been in direct contact with the Illusive Man.

Shepard looked hesitant, then holstered her weapon. “Alrik,” she said. “It's alright.” The turian did not look like he thought it was remotely alright, and his yellow eyes glared hard from behind his skull shaped facial tattoos, the marker of a turian colony that had a reputation for spawning some of the deadliest and most ruthless turian mercenaries in Citadel space. Shepard glared hard at Miranda. “We can talk business as soon as you holster that weapon, Operative Lawson.”

Reluctantly, Miranda cooperated. Alrik continued to stare at her, but slowly lowered his weapon as well. In a few long strides, he pushed past Shepard, stopping in the doorway to turn back.

“Shepard,” he said. “You keep your terrorist friends out of my personal files.” He slammed the door behind him as he went inside.

Shepard's mouth was a grim line. “You said something about Marissa, didn't you?”

Miranda was defensive. “I merely mentioned how unusual turian-human pairings are,” she said. “Especially considering they both fought in the First Contact War.”

Shepard just shook her head. “I'd invite you inside, but that seems ill-advised. Why are you here?”

“We're on a mission,” Kaidan answered her, the first words he'd spoken since Shepard had appeared. Garrus glanced over, and was surprised to see his friend looking just a little starry-eyed. Shepard appeared to have made an impression on him. “We're here to recruit you.”

“Saving the galaxy again?” Shepard quipped, looking at Garrus.

“Only if you're up for it,” he responded, smiling at her. She smiled back.

“Seeing as how you couldn't have done it without me last time, how could I say no?”

 

With a loud thud, Shepard tossed her tote on the central table in the mess. Cerberus crew members scuttled around the edges of the room and tried not to stare; Kaidan had to admit she certainly cut an imposing figure, in armor as battle-worn as Zaeed's and with a rifle in hand that was only slightly smaller but no-less deadly looking than the one Garrus sported.

He'd heard rumors of the The Shepard on and off for years, knew her ruthless reputation, but also trusted that if Garrus vouched for her, then she must be more than the shadowy criminal that the reports made her out to be.

But nothing had prepared him for the reality of the woman. Garrus had said she was a capable soldier, a skilled technician, and a brilliant tactician to boot; but somehow he had never managed to convey the sheer force of personality, the power of her smoldering green eyes, the dry wit and keen mind behind them. She seemed to burn with an inner intensity that fascinated him, and he couldn't stop himself from stealing sidelong looks at her.

“So where do I set up?” she was asking Garrus, looking around with arms folded and a mildly impressed expression on her face.

“Crew quarters are over that way,” Garrus said, gesturing to the starboard side of the ship.

“Is that where you bunk?” she asked, giving the turian sultry bedroom eyes. Garrus coughed, cleared his throat, hemmed and hawed for a second, and Kaidan couldn't help but laugh.

“Shepard, I don't believe I've ever seen anyone make a turian blush before,” he said.

“Turians do _not_ blush,” Garrus objected, though his subharmonics were resonating with an odd noise.

“Is that a challenge?” Shepard teased, looking up at him through her lashes, but Garrus appeared to have pulled himself together.

“As I was saying, you may use the crew quarters, but they do get a little cramped so the Commander is letting some of the crew set up elsewhere,” he continued, nodding toward Kaidan.

“Just clear it with me or Miranda first,” Kaidan seconded, jerking his chin toward the door to Miranda's office, where she had disappeared after a vague mention of making a report.

“Understood, Spectre,” Shepard said, with a respectful nod. “If you don't mind my asking, how long will the Normandy be in port here at the Citadel? I assume you had business here other than picking up little old me?”

Kaidan sobered; he had come to the Citadel to rally support from Council and the Alliance only to be told he was on his own; the Council had maintained his Spectre status, but would give no him no aid, and Anderson refused to divulge information to anyone working with Cerberus. Kaidan had secretly hoped for information on Ashley's whereabouts, but Anderson had remained tight lipped. So no, there was no business left here.

Aloud, he said, “We were here to recruit you and one other, but she's already on board-”

“Commander,” another female interrupted him, “there you are.” Kaidan turned to see the master thief they had picked up approaching from the direction of port observation.

There was a sharp intake of breath from Shepard. “Kasumi,” she hissed. Puzzled, Kaidan turned back to her... only to find she had vanished. He looked at Garrus, but the turian looked as lost as Kaidan felt.

He turned back to Kasumi, but any questions he had died on his lips as Shepard materialized behind her, omniblade to the woman's throat.

“It's been a long time, Shep,” Kasumi said calmly.

Kaidan and Garrus exchanged a look, neither sure what to do. Kasumi suddenly seemed to faint, her body going lax and dropping out from behind Shepard's blade. She vanished before hitting the ground, and Shepard stepped back, startled. Then she cursed, and flickered out of sight as well.

The various other crew in the room, sensing danger, fled, leaving Garrus an Kaidan standing on either side of the main mess table and staring at each other in confusion.

Kaidan opened his mouth to speak. “Wha-?”

Both men leapt back as the two women manifested mid-air in front of them, hurtling in a long arc that ended with them crashing on top of the table. Kasumi was nimble, but Shepard had the advantage of size, and flipped the smaller woman on her back, straddling her and pinning one arm with her knee, catching the other arm around the wrist as Kasumi lashed at her face.

“Your tactical cloak is terrible,” Kasumi said. “You need an upgrade.”

“And your hand-to-hand is getting rusty,” Shepard responded.

The two glared at each other for a moment. Kaidan looked to Garrus again, but the other man's face had relaxed; had he figured out what was going on? Because Kaidan certainly still felt lost.

Suddenly both women were laughing. Shepard slid back off the table, offered Kasumi a hand up, and pulled the other woman in to a fierce hug.

Kaidan could only look on, utterly baffled.

“Did I miss something?”

 

As it turned out, Shepard and Kasumi were old friends. Without further ado, the two women opted to bunk together in the lounge.

Restless and unable to sleep, Kaidan wandered into the mess hall early the following morning to find Shepard, Garrus, and Kasumi chatting amicably over steaming mugs of coffee.

“-not all the time, but on and off, whenever she was on the Citadel,” Shepard was saying.

“But if you two used to run jobs together, what happened? Why'd you stop?”

“Shep was gaining a reputation,” Kasumi answered. “I'm the best thief in the business; not the most famous one. I try to keep it that way.”

Shepard groaned, slouching to one side. “Your fault, Vakarian.”

“Me? What did I do?”

“You started chasing me! C-Sec's best and brightest was on the case, and next thing I know there are speculations about 'The Shepard: Crime Queen of the Citadel' all over the extranet and my best friend is off to seek quieter hunting grounds.”

Kaidan, having poured himself his own cup of coffee, slid in at the table beside Kasumi, who scooted to make room for him. Garrus nodded a greeting, and Shepard smiled in his direction. There was a sense of kinship, reminiscent of the SR1, that he hadn't realized he'd been missing. The Cerberus crew, while nice, just wasn't quite the same.

“Yeah, but you enjoy the infamy, admit it,” Garrus said. “You're the one who kept building on that reputation, without me chasing you anymore. I've been underground for over a year, remember?”

“Ah yes, the Archangel of Omega.” From her seat beside Garrus, Shepard reached up a hand to the bandages on his face. “I've been meaning to ask about this,” she started, but he caught her hand.

“It's still healing. It's... a little sensitive.”

They sat for a long moment, Shepard's hand caught in Garrus', staring into each other's eyes.

Kasumi coughed delicately.

Startled, Shepard dropped her hand. “You've got a few new scars yourself,” Garrus said, trying to keep it casual.

She grimaced, running a thumb along the glowing red line on her jaw. “I actually think I got off easy. You should have seen what Cerberus was doing to some of the others.”

“Cerberus did that?” Kaidan asked. A sharp pain flared across his temple; _another migraine_ he thought, sipping at his coffee and hoping the caffeine would dull the edges. “That can't be right; Cerberus is here to help humanity.”

Shepard was looking at him with furrowed brows; Garrus' face was unreadable. Abruptly, the other man stood.

“I've got some calibrations I need to get started on today, the sooner the better,” he said, nodding to Kaidan and heading toward the main battery. Shepard watched him go, eyes lingering on his back and a smile flitting across her face. Kaidan took a moment to wonder if Garrus was aware of his good fortune.

“I'm glad you're up, Kaidan. We still need to discuss that job,” Kasumi said, turning to him, eyes glinting in the shadows of her hood.

“I already told Joker to set a course for Beckenstein. Are you sure it's me you want helping you out on a heist?”

“Actually, if it's all the same to you, I think I'd rather take Shepard.”

Across the table, Shepard choked on her coffee. “Me? At a fancy cocktail party?”

“Well the thing is, I was going to have to fabricate a criminal persona for Kaidan. In order to make sure it stood up to any scrutiny, it was going to be a lot of hard work. Or, I just take someone who's already a known criminal element.”

“Huh,” Shepard replied. “That makes sense, actually.”

“You've already got an article in _Bad-Ass Weekly_.”

“Do I?”

“I can't believe I'm listening to this,” Kaidan half-joked. “I'm still a Spectre, you know, and we're in Citadel Space. I should turn you both in.”

Kasumi made a dismissive “pffft” sound while Shepard gave him a threatening look from across the table. “I dare you to try, Spectre.”

Smiling and shaking his head, Kaidan stood up and swigged the last of his coffee.

“You don't need to worry; I'll drop you both off on Beckenstein. And I'm just as glad not to be involved. Whatever you two get up to, the less I know about it, the better.”

 

It was quiet in the battery, but for the ever-present hum of the Normandy's drive core. Garrus was seldom bothered here, and he lost himself in the science of optimizing firing algorithms. He'd always been good with numbers; the higher mathematics had been one of his favorite subjects back in school. The minutiae of detail as columns of precise numbers scrolled past on the screen was oddly soothing to his restless mind.

The door behind Garrus whooshed open; he turned to find Shepard there, looking somber. He hadn't realized she and Kasumi had returned already.

When she'd left, she'd been in a flattering sleek black dress, and while she looked just as good back in armor, his mind flashed back to her long legs and trim waist. He wondered if there would ever be another excuse to see her in that dress.

Oblivious to his thoughts, she drifted past him, lost in thought, and settled on the bench beside his weapons work table.

“Shepard. Did you... need me for something?”

“Not really. Kasumi needed some time alone so I... thought I'd come here for a bit. Do you mind?”

“Of course not. Heist go OK?”

Shepard smiled sadly. “Yeah.”

“You look upset.”

Shepard sighed heavily, leaning back with her elbows on the edge of the table and her long legs stretched in front of her, staring up at the ceiling. “I just forced a friend to give up the last remnant of the man she loved. I know it was the right thing but... that doesn't mean I have to be happy about it.”

“Ah,” Garrus said, not knowing what else he could contribute.

“Love is a strange thing.”

Garrus looked over at Shepard, but she was still staring bemusedly at the ceiling, lost in thought. She didn't appear to require his input, so he remained silent, though he too began to ponder the strangeness of affection. The silence stretched comfortably between them, Garrus tapping away at his console, Shepard merely contemplating.

“Wow, Vakarian.” Her voice stirred him from his reverie, and he turned to see her examining his newest acquisition in firepower. “This your piece? It's nice. Is this... is this a Black Widow?”

The rifle was massive, even for him, and it looked twice as large and twice as deadly as she settled it against her shoulder and peered down the sights.

“You bet it is. Expensive, but worth it. I've been wanting one for awhile.”

“Me too. She's a beauty.” Shepard shifted her position, straddling the bench, and resettled the rifle on her shoulder, adjusting her grip and trying to find the right balance for her. She seemed to have no trouble handling the weight of the heavy gun, Garrus noticed, impressed, but it was almost too long for her.

“It does require a certain... reach,” he said, moving to her side. He reached up with one hand and adjusted the grip for her, then leaned his head in next to hers to check the site. “That better?”

“Yeah, almost got it,” she murmured softly, and he tried to ignore her sweet smell, the silky feel of her red hair on his cheek. He swung his leg over the bench and sat behind her; his other arm came up on her other side, supporting the rifle's weight while she resettled it again. She felt very warm, encircled in his arms like that. Had her cheeks always been so rosy, or was he simply noticing it for the first time because he was so close? He turned his face in towards hers. He could almost count the tiny markings on her nose and cheeks. _Freckles_ , he thought, _humans call them freckles_.

Her green eyes were still focused down the scope, and it struck him how very large human eyes were, and how fascinating those long dark fringes of lashes were. He wondered what they felt like.

A blue, holographic orb popped into existence in the edge of his peripheral vision.

“Pardon me, Garrus, Shepard,” came EDI's pleasant, synthetic voice. “I do not wish to interrupt, but the Commander wishes to consult Garrus regarding the Normandy's next mission.”

Shepard had stiffened, and Garrus dropped his arms, sliding back on the bench and giving her some space.

“You weren't interrupting anything, EDI. Tell Kaidan I'll be up to his cabin shortly,” Garrus said, while he cursed himself internally. _Spirits, what am I thinking. A human and a turian_.

Shepard was looking over her shoulder at him, Black Widow casually across her thighs. He couldn't deny to himself anymore that he was attracted to her; not when she was sitting there looking that good. He wanted to say something, but her face was unreadable, and there was no way to tell what she was thinking.

She opened her mouth, hesitant. “Garrus-”

“The Commander has requested you join in as well, Shepard,” EDI broke in again.

Shepard closed her eyes, lips pressed together in exasperation. It hadn't been lost on Garrus that she'd used his first name, and he just wanted to hear her voice saying it again, but he found himself tongue-tied.

“Of course EDI. We're on our way,” she said, standing up and placing the Black Widow back on the weapon bench. She stopped by the door, glancing back at him.

“You coming? We've still got a galaxy to save.”

 

 


	5. The Convict and the Krogan

Seeing Garrus in action was possibly the most thrilling thing Shepard had ever witnessed.

Oh, she'd seen him in action before, sure, but not like this. Back then, she'd been watching him over her shoulder while she ran; back then, she'd been the one on the wrong side of his scope. But this- she realized she had never fully appreciated the man's capabilities.

They were fighting their way through a jailhouse riot, a prison break in the middle of space, and it was even money whether or not the raging biotic they were pursuing was going to blow out a bulk head and vent them into space right alongside the dangerous criminals and equally dangerous prison guards. Kaidan and Garrus fought with the easy partnership of old friends, and Shepard was determined not to be the weak link; they were trusting her to watch their six, and she was just as determined to prove that their trust was not misplaced.

The approving nods and half-smiles were all the confirmation she needed to know that she wasn't disappointing.

They navigated the chaos, slipping in and out of the current like some kind of deadly, well-armored sea creature. The Spectre's biotics were fierce, the Archangel's aim was deadly, and the Shepard's stealth kills were quick and merciless.

Their path finally intersected with the convict's at the dock, where the Normandy waited. It could be seen through the curved glass windows, beautiful, gleaming black and silver and white. The convict screamed when she saw it, beating her tattooed fists against the glass. She didn't see the batarian in Blue Suns armor creeping up on her other side.

Without waiting for a signal from the men, Shepard drew her pistol and fired; the bullet sailed cleanly past the woman's right shoulder, eliminating the guard. The convict snapped around, startled, wild flickers of biotic blue immediately flaring around her clenched fists.

Kaidan raised a warning hand, and Shepard reluctantly holstered her weapon.

“What the hell do you want?” the woman snarled, dark red lips pulling back to bare her teeth like an animal.

“I just saved your ass!” Shepard snapped. Kaidan raised his hand again, giving her a stern look; Shepard clamped her mouth shut, crossing her arms sullenly.

“You're in a bad situation,” he said to the woman in a reasonable voice. “I'm gonna get you out of here.”

“Shit, you sound like a pussy,” she muttered in response, and Shepard silently agreed. This biotic convict, this “Jack,” was not the kind of person who was going to respect the polite and friendly approach. “I'm not going anywhere with you.. you're Cerberus.”

Kaidan continued to try and negotiate with her, while Shepard ground her teeth; she was going to have to get used to working with people. She'd spent too much time on her own. Huffing to herself, she glanced over and caught Garrus' eye. He smiled slightly, tilting his head at Kaidan. _Relax_ , he seemed to say, _let the Commander handle this_.

It was true, he was wearing the woman down; there was something to be said for diplomacy. But she could still hear the distant sounds of fighting, and feel shock waves shuddering through the floor from explosions that echoed through the corridors. There wasn't time for this, and if she'd had her way, they'd just knock the woman out and bring her back to the Normandy, willing or not.

She glanced back at Garrus again, but his eyes were on Jack, and she knew that look. He was assessing her as a potential threat, analyzing any aggressive moves she might make and how best to counteract them. She let her gaze wander across the bandages on his face, to the soft skin of his neck, his broad shoulders, the collapsed Black Widow on his back; she tried to recall the exact way it had felt to hold that beautiful rifle. The memory, never far from the front of her mind, rose up, of his arms around her, the slight tickle under her ear where his mandible rested, how their breath synched perfectly, two snipers peering down the same scope.

Garrus glanced back over, and Shepard snapped her attention forward, blushing furiously, and pretending to be fascinated by the interchange between Kaidan and Jack. They appeared to have reached an agreement.

“You want me on your team? You let me go through those Cerberus databases,” Jack was saying.

“I'll give you full access,” Kaidan reassured her confidently.

“So why the hell are we standing here?” she asked, and Shepard silently mouthed a “thank you” to herself.

Kaidan gestured towards the Normandy. “Move out,” he commanded, and they fell into step behind him.

 

“This is BULLSHIT, Spectre, we had a DEAL!”

“Commander Alenko would have said anything to get you off that ship alive. He does not have the authority to release those files to you.”

Garrus and Shepard were hovering outside the comm room, eavesdropping; it wasn't hard, and Garrus would be surprised if Mordin couldn't hear everything from his lab down the hall. Upon hearing the about the deal Kaidan had struck with Jack, Miranda shut the whole thing down, and needless to say, Jack was not pleased. Garrus knew Kaidan was a man of integrity, knew he'd meant what he'd said back on the Purgatory when he promised Jack access to the Cerberus files. And yet, he wasn't surprised that Kaidan remained silent, and did not speak out against Miranda's contradiction of his orders.

A moment later and the biotic burst out the door, storming past Shepard and making for the lift. Shepard turned and shadowed the woman, and Garrus scurried to keep up. He glanced in through the doorway as he passed, catching Miranda's stony expression. Behind her, he saw Kaidan sitting with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, the sure sign of worrisome headaches that had been increasing in regularity.

He caught up to Shepard and Jack at the lift doors. Jack was seething, one hand on her hip, the other running back and forth over her shorn skull. “I should have known better, I should have known not to get on a Cerberus ship, you're all liars!”

The lift doors opened and Shepard followed Jack in, so Garrus tailed them. Shepard's face was grim but thoughtful; she was clearly concerned about how to keep Jack in line. Jack punched the button for lowest floor without looking, and Garrus felt the barely perceptible feeling of his stomach dropping as the lift descended.

“We're not all Cerberus, you know,” Shepard said in the silence that followed as Jack glared angrily at the door.

“Yeah? Why the fuck do I care who you are or why you're here? Just get me off this goddamn frigate.”

“Calm down and listen!” Shepard snapped, and Jack took a step back. Her face remained sullen, but she was clearly intimidated by Shepard; possibly because Shepard was clearly _not_ intimidated by her. She folded her arms and leaned her bare back against the metallic wall of the lift, her facial expression saying _well? I'm listening._

“There were a lot of places we could have gone, a lot of people we might have brought on this mission. Garrus and I advised Kaidan to recruit you. You wanna know why?”

Jack's eyes flicked to Garrus, who nodded in confirmation. He was willing to trust that Shepard knew what she was doing. Someone had to talk the biotic into not taking off with a shuttle as soon as they left her alone, and Miranda and Kaidan clearly weren't the people to do it.

“Because we're. Not. Cerberus. And neither are you. There are enough people marching around here in black and white uniforms. If we're going to stop the Collectors, we need to know that's the _only_ thing on the agenda.”

“I could give a shit about your motivations or your fucking mission,” Jack snarled, pushing herself away from the wall. “I was promised access to Cerberus files, that's all I care about. The cheerleader shut me down. So I'm fucking done.”

“There is more than one way to get access to those files.”

Jack gave Shepard a considering look, and Garrus did too. Her green eyes were hooded, her smile almost smug.

“Trust me, Jack. I can get you the information you're after.”

 

It was with relief that Shepard pulled her armor back on, settling her Kuwashi visor back in its proper place over her right eye. She felt naked without it, especially when she was naked.

“You Cerberus types do love your invasive medical procedures,” she half-joked as she pulled back the curtain around her bed in the medical bay.

“I'm Alliance, not Cerberus,” Dr. Chakwas informed her in a clipped tone. “But you can blame Cerberus for this one; the Illusive Man wanted detailed physicals on everyone in the crew.”

Shepard casually leaned a shoulder against the wall across the desk from the good doctor, hands loosely clasped in front of her. The harsh fluorescent lighting reflecting off the polished steel surfaces of the room was far too reminiscent of her brief time attempting to infiltrate Cerberus. She recalled the days in recovery after having her implants put in with a slight shudder; it was all so cold, sterile, unfeeling.

“So what's the diagnosis, doc? Will I live?”

“You appear to be in top shape, Shepard; impressive, given your history. Your Cerberus implants also seem to be healing, though they are showing some signs of rejection.”

Shepard twisted her mouth ruefully, running a thumb over the glowing red scar on her jaw in what had become something of a nervous habit. “You don't say,” she stated sardonically.

“If I may make a recommendation, there could be a psychological factor at play here. A bit more positive thinking on your part might make all the difference.”

Shepard nodded, acknowledging the doctor's words noncommittally. It wasn't her own health she was particularly interested in here; Garrus had said something was wrong with the Commander, and that Dr. Chakwas would know more. This was a wonderful opportunity to broach the subject.

“So how did an Alliance doctor end up on a Cerberus frigate?” she asked, feigning casual disinterest.

“I was the chief medical officer on the SR-1. Cerberus recruited me because I was the doctor with the most experience in treating both Kaidan and Jeff. That is, Commander Alenko and Flight Lieutenant Moreau.”

“How well do you know the Commander?” Shepard asked, silently noting the casual use of first names.

“He's an extraordinary man. Tends to keep to himself, though. Maybe because of the headaches. It's not easy being an L2.”

“What does that have to do with it?” Shepard's knowledge of biotics was sketchy, at best.

Dr. Chakwas' face had become shuttered; she appeared to be considering how much she could- or should- say. “Alenko was wired for an older model implant, the old L2 configuration. Sometimes there are complications.”

“What kind of complications?”

“It used to just be migraines. But there is a long list of horrific side effects associated with the L2s and Kaidan appears to be developing increasingly worse reactions,” she said, mouth a grim line. “You, on the other hand, are fine. If you don't mind, Shepard, I have things I need to be doing.” Dr. Chakwas turned to her terminal, clearly dismissing Shepard, who shrugged slightly; she was obviously not going to get anything more out of the doctor just now.

“Doc,” she said, with a nod, and made for the door.

“Shepard?” She turned, almost out of the room, at the sound of the doctor's voice. “I enjoy a glass of Serrice Ice Brandy once in a while, in my off time; you and Garrus should join me next time we're planet-side.” There was something in the doctor's soft grey-blue eyes, something knowing, that seemed to beg that Shepard understand and agree.

“Sure, Doc. Anytime.”

Outside the med-bay, the mess hall teemed with activity. It was that nebulous time of day when the second shift was swapping out with the third; some crew were sipping coffee and rubbing sleep out of their eyes, while others were plowing into Mess Sergeant Gardner's dinner special and making plans for playing cards or watching vids with their free time before settling down to bed. They were all Cerberus crew, Shepard noticed; for some reason, the various specialists they'd picked up so far tended to keep to themselves. She shot a look toward the battery, wondering what Garrus was up to, but made for the lift instead.

The constant low thrum of the ship's drive core was her only company as the lift carried her down to the cargo bay. It was soothing, in its way, and she leaned against the wall and tilted her head back, considering what she knew.

Cerberus, in their quest for human advancement, had been doing research on experimental implants to augment human abilities, everything from advanced biotics to super soldiers. Shepard had spent time with the experimental cell, dubbed “Project Profectus,” receiving a variety of enhancements herself. It was there that she had first met Miranda Lawson. Lawson was the head of another cell, one called “Project Evinco,” whose research had intersected with Profectus somehow; she'd spent days locked away in conferences with the Cerberus scientists heading Profectus, and when she'd left, she'd taken stacks of documentation and several test subjects with her.

At the time, Shepard had suspected that it might have something to do with the missing Spectre; now, she knew her hunch had been correct. And Garrus, who'd known the Commander years ago, was adamant that something was wrong. If only for his sake, Shepard would have been committed to finding out what. But on top of that, she had been charged by Hackett to investigate humanity's missing Spectre, and some strange luck had Alenko walk up out of the blue one day, looking for her.

However, Miranda was not exactly being forthcoming with information, and it was difficult to investigate anything when you were aboard a ship riddled with Cerberus bugs and constantly monitored by an advanced AI.

Dr. Chakwas clearly had something she wished to share, and her suggestion of a casual meet up off-ship was promising. Shepard supposed she'd have to content herself with that, for the time being.

The lift doors opened and Shepard stepped off into the cargo bay with a slight smile. Somehow, she'd known they'd all be here; the specialists might like to keep to themselves most of the time, but had gotten in the habit of congregating here in the cargo bay at this time of day. They were developing a sense of camaraderie, which considering the scope of their mission, was no bad thing.

Shepard stepped forward, passing Jacob and Zaeed, who were arm-wrestling on a crate, egged on by Kasumi. Kaidan had made a rare appearance, and not surprisingly, Miranda was close at hand. She rarely let him out of her sight since the incident with Jack's recruitment, and it seemed everywhere the Spectre went, there too was the Cerberus Operative.

It had taken some doing, but Shepard pulled some strings and called in a favor with a certain asari information broker, and gotten Jack access to the Cerberus files she wanted. The biotic had opted to forgive Kaidan's lapse, and laid the whole thing at Miranda's feet. She liked to blame Miranda for everything, regardless of the truth of the matter, from taking the last cup of coffee to using up all the hot water. Currently, Jack was staring daggers at Miranda from where she sat high atop a stack of crates, legs dangling over the edge, elbows on her knees.

Kaidan was doing biotic exercises in a cleared space near the wall, practicing precision and control by lifting a single empty canister out of a row without disturbing the ones on either side. Miranda watched him carefully.

“Your self-control is admirable, Commander,” she said, sounding grudgingly impressed. “I was under the impression that BAaT was shut down for being a sub-standard facility.”

Kaidan shrugged slightly, allowing the canister to drop back in line with the rest. “Control was the one thing I learned plenty of, back there,” he said, his face closed. “You weren't at BAaT, Miranda. Where were you trained?” Kaidan lifted another canister carefully out of the line.

“My father had me privately tutored,” Miranda responded. “An asari, actually. She focused on training me to push the limits of my reach and strength, to maximize my potential.” Miranda extended an arm, frowning in concentration, and a large pallet of supplies at the far end of the bay gently rose up on a cushion of biotic blue in demonstration.

Suddenly, the line of canisters toppled as a wave of raw biotics crashed into them, then continued rolling through the bay in a shockwave all the way to the floating pallet, which crashed to the ground. Startled, Kaidan and Miranda both spun around. Shepard glanced up at where Jack was sitting, both arms extended, flickers of blue licking around her arms from her elbows to the tips of her fingers.

“Wanna know where I got my training?” she asked, a predatory smile on her face.

Shepard shook her head and moved to sit beside Garrus where he sat cleaning the parts of a disassembled pistol, glad to see that he too had taken to joining the others down in the cargo bay in the evenings. He quirked a brow plate at her in wordless greeting. He didn't seem any more inclined than she was to step between Jack and Miranda.

“That's probably enough for today, Commander,” Miranda said to Kaidan, pointedly ignoring Jack. “You should get some rest.”

“I-” Kaidan started, shooting a look toward Shepard and Garrus. He winced in pain, not finishing his sentence. “Yeah. Yeah, you're probably right,” he said, raising a hand to his temple. He and Miranda boarded the lift together, just as Jacob lost spectacularly to Zaeed.

“Best two out of three,” Jacob challenged, laughing, while Kasumi applauded enthusiastically. Zaeed grinned wolfishly.

“It's your money, son,” he said in his trademark growl.

Meanwhile, left to her own devices, Jack was cursing to herself. She was attempting to right the canisters with her biotics, one at a time, but appeared to be having trouble mimicking Kaidan's precision.

Shepard smiled, watching her, and Garrus shook his head, focusing on his task.

“It's strange going into a suicide mission on a human ship,” he said conversationally. “They don't prepare for high-risk operations the way turians do.”

It dawned on Shepard that Garrus was one of only two aliens on an otherwise all-human ship. It was a rather new experience for Shepard as well, as she was used to working with aliens of all kinds back on the Citadel.

“They're just blowing off steam,” she commented. “Turians do the same thing.”

“Turian ships have training rooms for exercise, combat sims, even full-contact sparring,” he said. “It's a more... controlled environment.” He glanced over his shoulder at a determined Jack, who had a wobbling canister suspended in the air and was attempting to stack it on top of another.

“So you'd rather be sparring?”

“It's a good way to settle grudges amicably. For instance, a little grudge match between Jack and Miranda might not be a terrible idea.”

“Actually, that might be a very, very terrible idea,” Shepard disagreed, as Jack's canisters fell to the the floor and she threw out another shockwave along with a string of angry curses. “That one hasn't got the discipline to pull her punches.”

Garrus gave a conceding nod. “True.” He smiled to himself, recalling something. “I remember right before one mission...” he started, and proceeded to regale Shepard with a story about his rivalry with a recon scout as he reassembled his pistol. Shepard listened, fascinated; this was a side of the straight-laced Officer Vakarian that she was not familiar with. A devilish smile played across her face when he described their final “tiebreaker” back in the scout's quarters with a certain cocky pride.

“It sounds like you're carrying some tension,” she teased him. “Maybe I could help you get rid of it.”

Garrus was snapping the last piece of his pistol back into place. He froze, looking at her sidelong.

“I ah... didn't think you'd feel like sparring, Shepard.”

 _Spirits, he's going to be deliberately thick about this, isn't he_ , she thought with exasperation.

“I've got to keep in practice somehow, Vakarian,” she said, deciding not to clarify what she'd _actually_ meant if he wasn't willing to hear it. “Let's do this.” She stood and stretched her neck and shoulders, before striding over to a relatively clear area, turning to face him. “Well?”

Garrus rose and cautiously moved toward her. She fell in to a fighting stance, fists raised.

“You sure about this?” he asked.

Shepard's response was to attack; she made her opening move by dropping down and sweeping out her leg, attempting to use his height against him by knocking his long legs from under him. He reacted quickly, sidestepping her kick easily, but he didn't counterattack. Shepard sprang back up and threw a low punch at his ribs; he blocked with a dropped elbow, but remained on the defensive as she loosed a flurry of blows to test his reactions. He was good. He was _very_ good; this was going to be fun.

Jacob and Zaeed abandoned their arm-wrestling; Jack dropped down from her perch, canisters forgotten, and Kasumi called out, “Now there's something worth betting on!”

Garrus and Shepard grappled fiercely until they were no longer testing each other, no longer pulling punches, each simply trying to gain the upper hand.

The fight dragged on; it was clear they were evenly matched, and at a stalemate. Shepard decided it was time for dirty moves. She feinted to one side, he moved to intercept and she slipped inside the circle of his reach. In quick succession, she hit him with paired punches to the vulnerable plates just below his eyes, then slammed an elbow on to his collarbone while sweeping a leg out and knocking his feet out from under him. He dropped to his knees, and she stopped up short; the next move she made would have been a kill move. Her momentary hesitation was enough; one long arm looped around her ankles, pulling forward, and she found herself lying flat on her back. An instant later he was on top of her, pinning her shoulders. Their faces were inches apart, breath heavy, eyes locked.

The tension was broken by victorious whoop from Jacob. “I told you, Massani!” he crowed. “Pay up!”

Garrus sat back on his haunches, still straddling Shepard's hips, and ran a hand over his fringe.

“You almost had me there, Shepard.”

Shepard sat up on her elbows, her face unusually serious. “You have no idea, Vakarian.”

“I do,” Kasumi chimed in. “I've seen her use that move before, Garrus. She could have killed you.”

Zaeed, in the middle of counting credits, stopped. “Well hell, if this were a real fight, he'd be dead. I don't owe you nothing, Jacob,” he growled.

“Uhh, I believe we were betting on the results of a sparring match, not who could kill who,” Jacob corrected. “If that were the case, I'd have laid my money differently.”

Zaeed grunted in unhappy agreement, and finished counting off credits from his omnitool to Jacob's. Garrus stood and reached out a hand, helping Shepard to her feet. The lights dimmed slightly as EDI put the Normandy in to her night cycle; now joined by Jack, Jacob and Zaeed continued to discuss who on the ship could take who in a fight. Kasumi gave Shepard a knowing look as she silently followed the other three toward the lift.

Garrus and Shepard were left alone as the lift doors quietly whooshed closed.

“Would you really have killed me?” Garrus asked in the silence that followed.

“Just know that I could, if I wanted to,” she responded. “I didn't. Want to, I mean. I just ran out of options; we're pretty evenly matched.” There were butterflies in her stomach, suddenly, but she knew this was too good an opportunity to pass up; it was time to make things plain and see if he was as drawn to her as she was to him. She smiled seductively, turning her best bedroom eyes on the turian. “So about that tiebreaker back in your quarters...”

One of the things Shepard had always noticed about Garrus, and really appreciated, was his grace. He moved like large, predatory cat. He had complete spatial awareness even in full armor, superior balance and mastery of his body; it was part of what made him so formidable in hand-to-hand combat. So she was startled to see him almost trip over his own feet as he awkwardly backpedaled away from her.

“Oh! I didn't... huh. Never knew you had a weakness for men with scars.”

“Garrus.”

He froze when she said his name, and looked her full in the face, as if he were trying to read something there. She raised her eyebrows, hoping her intent was clear.

He turned away from her for a moment, thoughtful. Then he shrugged his shoulders, turning back. “Well, why the hell not? There aren't many people in this galaxy I respect more than you. And if we can figure out a way to make it work, then... yeah. Definitely.”

Shepard had to smother a laugh. “Make it work?”

“I've never considered cross-species intercourse,” he said, reaching to pick up his abandoned pistol from where it sat on a nearby crate and avoiding eye contact with her. He fumbled with it awkwardly as he spoke. “And damn, saying it that way doesn't help. Now I feel dirty and clinical.”

“You've never been with a human.”

“Well... no.”

“Relax, Garrus. I know turians... I know how this works.”

Garrus dropped the pistol with a clatter. He reached down to pick it up at the same instant Shepard did. Without meaning to, their foreheads bumped gently.

Garrus dropped the pistol again, leaping backwards. “Shepard, I'm sorry- I didn't mean to- that was-”

Shepard was smirking. “Relax,” she repeated. She knew full well what that forehead bump meant between two turians. She picked up the pistol and handed it back to him. “Look, if you want to do some... research. You do that. Take all the time you need. Let me know when you're ready... but don't keep me waiting.”

With that, she turned and stepped on the lift, leaving the wide-eyed turian clutching his pistol in the empty cargo bay.

 

It was in a used ship parts market down a dusty road that Garrus spotted Shepard, leaning over the sales console and scrolling through the inventory with a frown of concentration. He took a moment to appreciate her form; her elbows rested on the edge of the counter the console was mounted on, and her torso was stretched out, back slightly arched, so that even in her worn silver-grey armor, he couldn't help but notice the alluring shape of her.

Her open invitation for a “tiebreaker,” as always, was at the forefront of his mind. He attempted to set the suggestion aside and focus on business; it lurked at the edges of his thoughts, anyway.

He reached out one hand, almost placing it on her waist in a familiar way, stopped himself, and gently touched her upper arm instead.

“Shepard.”

She glanced over, and smiled wearily. “Vakarian.”

“Looking for anything in particular?”

“Engineer Daniels mentioned a part she and Donnelly were looking for; I've been trying to find it for them, but haven't had any luck, just yet.” As she spoke, Shepard stood up straight, stretching her arms over her head and loudly popping several joints. Garrus tried not to ogle her; the batarian shopkeeper, clearly unimpressed, merely grunted. His eyes looked mistrustful, and Garrus recalled that there was little love between batarians and humans. Shepard nodded to the shopkeeper respectfully as she turned to leave; she did not seem to reciprocate the hostility. Garrus fell in beside her as they headed back to the shuttle pickup point. “So you going to fill me in on what the good doctor had to say?” she asked.

En route to their next recruitment mission, the Normandy had stopped off on a small, barely settled planet. Kaidan, Miranda, and Jacob had headed out to take care of some Cerberus business on the eastern continent, so some of the crew took the second shuttle groundside to resupply while the Normandy remained in orbit. Garrus had casually asked Dr. Chakwas if she wouldn't mind joining him for a drink, and while the primarily batarian settlement had nothing so fine as Serrice Ice Brandy, she'd seemed content with her shard wine. Finally alone with Garrus, and away from prying ears, Chakwas had shared her shocking discovery.

Briefly, Garrus debated keeping it confidential; after all, what was Kaidan's fate to Shepard? She was no friend of his, and had her own problematic ties to Cerberus. But he had few enough allies aboard the Normandy these days, and was going to need her help.

“During Kaidan's physical, Dr. Chakwas found something that has her very concerned,” he said, keeping his voice low and his pace casual. “His L2 biotic implant has been... tampered with.”

Shepard's full attention was on him, he knew, though her face remained expressionless, her body language as casual as his own. “Oh?”

“Oh, indeed. She doesn't have the technical skill to tell exactly what's been going on, but she says its been extensively rewired; there is circuitry reaching into what Dr. Chakwas calls his parietal lobe; she says it's possible it's interfering with his free will.”

Shepard's green eyes had widened almost imperceptibly, her jaw hardening. “Of course,” she muttered. “Evinco. Profectus. They didn't just want to enhance humans; they were developing a way to control us. They planted a fucking control chip in his head.”

Her voice had remained even, but he knew her well enough to recognize the anger boiling inside of her; he'd seen it before, that day when Saren had attacked the Citadel. He didn't envy the Illusive Man at that moment. Though she hadn't become visibly aggressive, bystanders seemed to sense her anger; the crowd thinned around them as they approached, people instinctively steering away from her fury.

“Maybe,” Garrus said, placing a calming hand on her arm, though he hardly felt much calmer himself. “If we're going to help him, we need to know more. We need to know how to reverse it.”

She nodded, unclenching her jaw. “You're right,” she said, her voice frustrated. “We still don't have enough non-Cerberus personnel on the ship to challenge Miranda. Did Chakwas say anything else?”

Garrus fidgeted with his visor's settings as an excuse to cover his embarrassment. In fact, there had been a whole other half to his conversation with Dr. Chakwas; a human, a female, and a doctor, he had determined she was going to be the best source of information for his “research” on human-turian relations. To her credit, though her eyes had sparkled some, she had not laughed, and agreed to forward packets of pertinent data to him. Ultimately, he'd been most put at ease when she'd remarked, “it's not as different as you might think” in a reassuring tone.

“Nothing relevant,” he managed, in what he hoped was a normal tone of voice.

 

Two days later, Garrus was alone in the battery reviewing those same data packets when he heard a commotion out in the mess.

Startled, he fumbled his omnitool shut, wondering what was going on; that sounded like Miranda's voice and- Shepard?

Emerging from the battery, he spotted the two of them in a heated argument just outside Miranda's office. She, Kaidan, and Zaeed had just returned from a mission on Korlus, where they were supposed to have been recruiting a krogan warlord, one Dr. Okeer. Shepard must have been eavesdropping outside the conference room again.

“-a normal krogan is dangerous. This one was created, and likely educated, by a madman!” Miranda all but shouted, punctuating her words with sharp, decisive gestures. “This is not open for negotiation. The Commander has agreed with me; it stays in the tank! This is not your decision, Shepard.”

“Noted,” Shepard replied, eyes narrowing as she relaxed her stance in deceptive deference, arms still crossed belligerently across her chest. Miranda stared for a moment longer, then turned sharply on her heel and retreated into her office. She was generally able to keep her cool; Garrus hadn't seen her so worked up with anyone but Jack. Shepard must have really been pushing her.

Before Garrus could say anything, Shepard spotted him, her green eyes burning, jaw hardened and nostrils flaring. “Okeer didn't make it, but they picked up a tankbred krogan, one engineered with Collector tech. Alenko wanted to open the tank.” She jerked her head towards the med-bay. “But then he didn't.”

Through the med-bay's glass window, Garrus could see Kaidan sitting on the edge of a bed, trying to stem a bloody nose with a tissue while Dr. Chakwas scanned his L2 implant. He turned back to Shepard, who's face was grim. “He doesn't even know he's being controlled, but he's fighting it anyway. And the more he fights it, the worse it gets; they're going to kill him, Garrus.”

 

The evening gathering in the the cargo bay was uncharacteristically muted. Kaidan didn't always come, but his absence tonight seemed to be more noteworthy than usual. Shepard was quiet, occasionally shooting glances up through the glass window to the room where the krogan tank had been stored. Early on, she stood abruptly and left. Garrus was half worried that she was going to storm into that room and open the tank just to spite Miranda, but it was in full view of everyone, and under an encoded lock. She was probably capable of hacking it, but... he shook off his concern. He was being paranoid.

One by one, the specialists cleared out. Eventually, so did Garrus, leaving Jacob doing pull-ups and Kasumi unsubtly eyeballing him from behind one of her old paper-bound earth books. Reaching the crew deck, he started to turn toward the battery and his familiar narrow cot, when he paused; if Kasumi was down in the hold, then Shepard would be alone in the lounge. Maybe tonight was a good night to talk to her about... blowing off steam.

He forced himself to take a deep, calming breath as he paused outside the lounge door, his heart involuntarily quickening its pace. Nervously, he rubbed imaginary dirt smudges from his armor, pulled at the collar and resettled it on his shoulders, and smoothed his hand over the top of his fringe. He ran through things to say in his head, wondered if he shouldn't turn some music on when he got inside, or perhaps mix a drink for her at the bar on the far side of the room.

He reached a hand towards the glowing green circle in the center of the door; hesitated, breath catching.

“You OK, Garrus?”

He nearly leapt out of his skin as Kasumi seemed to appear from thin air beside him, which, knowing her, was probably not just his imagination. She grinned, teasingly but not unkindly, as she reached past him and activated the door. It swooshed open to reveal an empty room. Kasumi and Garrus glanced inside together, then back at each other, a caricature of cartoonish confusion.

“EDI,” Garrus said calmly. “Where's Shepard?”

There was a long pause; unusual, as EDI's replies tended to be instantaneous. “I appear to be having trouble locating the Shepard. While I have no record of her disembarking the Normandy, I am not reading her presence anywhere aboard at this time. Logic would dictate that she has altered her tactical cloak to conceal her whereabouts from the ship's sensors.”

“Crap,” Garrus said matter-of-factly, as together he and Kasumi ran for the lift.

They arrived too late. As they burst into the port cargo hold, they saw Shepard pinned to the wall, the massive krogan, still dripping with fluid from the open tank behind him, with his arm across her neck.

“Prove your strength and try to destroy me,” the krogan demanded, his voice all bass and gravel, setting off every one of Garrus' danger instincts. It took everything he had not to do something- anything! -to help her, but he stayed back, as did Kasumi, hovering just inside the door. Shepard knew how to handle herself.

“I am the one who released you. Follow my command: I will give you purpose,” Shepard said, face defiant and strong. “Our enemies threaten galaxies. Add your strength to ours, and we will defeat them.”

Garrus had to hand it to her, she knew just how to handle a young krogan. Show no signs of weakness, and offer them a challenge; few could resist.

“That is... acceptable,” the krogan said slowly. “I will fight for you.”

“I'm glad you saw reason,” Shepard replied with a slight smirk. The krogan stepped back, looking down, and that's when Garrus saw the pistol Shepard had pressed to his ribs. A wave of relief washed over him, and he shook his head. Of course Shepard would have had a fallback; she wasn't stupid.  
Released from the krogan's grip, Shepard brought a hand up to her collarbone, rubbing it ruefully. “Kasumi, Garrus; I'd like you to meet our newest recruit. This is Grunt.”

 

 


	6. Horizon

“It's a matter of record, sir, that I was opposed to the recruitment of the Shepard in the first place. She can't be trusted.”

“On the contrary, Operative Lawson, the Shepard is a useful asset to the team. Her charisma and capability have done more for crew morale and squad unity than even our Spectre himself. EDI tells me she spends time talking to each crew member and specialist, gets to know them, does favors for them, and is well-liked by all. The same cannot be said of you.” The Illusive Man sat back in his chair, cigarette idly smoldering between his long fingers, the sullen glowing tip rendered in perfect detail by the Normandy's QEC. Somehow that same detail never seemed to reach his face, shadowed as always, but for his cold and calculating, faintly glowing blue eyes.

Refusing to be intimidated by his tricks, Miranda tried to regain control of the situation. “Shepard disobeyed a direct order by releasing that- that experiment from it's tank,” she said. “Not only that, but I think she suspects the modifications made to Commander Alenko's L2 implants. EDI has audio files of-”

“I have heard the audio files,” The Illusive Man interrupted. “Your use of the control chip has been... less than subtle. You put too much pressure on him; one of the crew was bound to suspect something sooner or later.”

“She is a security risk, sir,” Miranda insisted defiantly, standing feet apart, hands folded behind her.

“The Shepard stays. She is not what I called you to discuss. You will put your focus back on the mission objective. There has been a development; human lives are at stake. Call the Commander here, and have your pilot set a course for the colony on Horizon.”

 

The team, such as it was, gathered in the conference room to prepare for the mission. Kaidan stood at the head of the table, Miranda behind him and just to his left. Jacob, Zaeed, Jack and the krogan, calling itself 'Grunt,' ranged down the right side of the table. Shepard, Garrus, Kasumi, and Mordin stood on the left, but there was a distinctly noticeable bubble of tense space between Shepard and Miranda. Mordin was just wrapping up his explanation of his anti seeker swarm armor upgrades.

“-in limited numbers, should confuse detection. Make us invisible. In theory.”

“Well that's reassuring,” Shepard remarked, lips in a thin line. “Maybe if we just, I don't know, hid behind some shrubberies? Put paper bags over our heads?” She shrugged eloquently. “Perhaps they just won't notice us!”

“Experimental technology!” Mordin protested, looking affronted. “Only test is contact- ah. Humor.” Shepard responded to this observation with a pained smiled, head cocked and eyes closed. Her face was a study of conflicting emotion, indulgently tolerant and legitimately amused, and somehow simultaneously looking as though she wanted to give up on the galaxy. Kaidan stared in fascination.

Miranda stepped forward, blocking his line of sight. “Commander Alenko, myself, and Professor Solus will be going groundside on this mission. The rest of you be prepared in case we need backup.”

“What is it with you and three-man teams?” Shepard asked, stepping back in to view on Miranda's other side and planting her hands palm-down on the table top.

“The three-man team is Alliance standard training,” Jacob volunteered, arms folded.

“My question was for the Commander,” Shepard said acidly. Garrus put a restraining hand on her shoulder, and she she shot Jacob an apologetic look. He only smiled, shaking his head slightly.

“The larger team shouldn't be necessary until we are able to make our final assault on the Collector Base,” Miranda said coolly.

“But that's just it,” Shepard objected. “We need to spend more missions together, the larger team as a whole learning to work together, if we want to have any chance at all when we take the Collector Base. Unless Commander Alenko disagrees,” and she smiled, shooting him a look that was almost a dare. “Besides, this isn't the Alliance, is it? We can operate however we please.”

“You make a good point, Shepard. Given the amount of ground we'll have to cover on the colony, I think multiple teams would be the best approach,” Kaidan said, pulling up a holo display of the colony layout in the center of the conference table. As he reasserted command, Miranda took a half step back, looking vaguely displeased, though she didn't counter him. “We'll head out in three teams of three, dropping here, here, and here. Keep in radio contact at all times. I'll lead the first team, taking point here, closest to the center of the colony. Miranda and Mordin, you'll be with me. The three of us are going to head for the colony's main power grid.” He expanded the haptic interface with a gesture, indicating their destination in glowing orange. Gesturing again, he scrolled to a different area of the map, zooming back out and highlighting a cluster of housing units.

“Garrus, I trust you more than anyone. I want you leading the second team, going in here. Do a sweep, look for survivors. Take Jacob for biotics, and Kasumi for tech.” Garrus nodded. Miranda looked at him sidewise, as though she wanted to object, but seemed to think for a moment, then nodded to herself. _Glad my decisions meet with your approval_ , Kaidan thought to himself. The amount of bitterness in the sudden thought surprised him; hadn't he and Miranda been getting along? But there was a lot in the past few weeks that seemed foggy in his memories. There were bigger things to focus on, however, and he pushed the confusion to the back of his brain for the time being.

“The third team will drop here, furthest out, and secure the perimeter before moving into the colony. Shepard, I want you leading that team,” Kaidan directed. In the corner of his eye, he saw Miranda's jaw harden to a steel line, but again, she did not object. He half expected a triumphant smirk on Shepard's face, but she appeared to be too focused on the mission, eyes sweeping the map, expression calculating. “Jack will be your biotic support,” _since you're the only one she listens to_ , he thought, but did not say, “and Zaeed will be your muscle. Grunt, you're not tested in the field yet, and this mission is too important. I'm going to need you to stay behind.”

“I am bred to fight!” Grunt shouted, thudding a heavy fist down on the table. The other specialists shuffled uneasily away, giving him his space.

“Let him tag along with my team,” Shepard said. All eyes turned to her, and she leaned back, arms folded over her armored chest. “Look, we're going to be on the perimeter, not in the thick of the civilians. If he loses control, the worst he'll hurt is the Collectors. Jack's biotics are strong enough to trap him, and Zaeed can take him out.” Jack's eyes widened as she took in the towering krogan, and Zaeed looked startled. Grunt, however, only grinned fiercely.

“They're welcome to try,” he growled, followed by a slow “heh-heh-heh” that sent chills down Kaidan's spine.

“I'll accept full responsibility for him,” Shepard continued with a tight smile.

“Fine,” Kaidan acceded.

“Thank you, battlemaster,” Grunt said to Shepard, nodding his head respectfully.

Kaidan pushed himself back from the table, sweeping his eyes the room. “If everyone's clear, then gear up. ETA is twenty minutes.”

 

Given how little they knew about what they were facing, the mission seemed to go well. Grunt was a powerful ally, as Shepard had known he would be, tanking mercilessly through swarms of husks. Between his fierce attacks, Jack letting loose her raging biotics, and Zaeed's deadly weapons accuracy, Shepard found herself able to spare some attention for snooping. Applying tech skills honed through a lifetime of crime, she hacked the doors of various buildings, picking up any loose weapons and armor upgrades she came across, even going so far as to hack a few personal safes for stores of credits; had Garrus, Kaidan, or even Jacob or Miranda been along, they'd surely have objected, but neither Jack nor Zaeed batted an eyelash, and Grunt was just happy to have something to kill. In fact, all were grateful when she emerged with stashes of thermal clips, as they were going through them at an alarming rate.

“Stupidest weapon upgrade ever,” Shepard muttered to herself as she popped another spent heat sink.

But inside each home was also the evidence of the people who lived there. There were pictures of families on mantle shelves, children's toys strewn on the floor, dirty dishes in the sink, or a blue collar worker's coveralls slung over the back of a chair. The gravity of their mission was dawning on Shepard in a very real way; this was bigger than whatever Cerberus was up to. These were people's lives, innocent people who needed protection. The Council was too focused on stamping out rumors of a shadowy threat that Shepard knew firsthand were true, and the Alliance more focused on laying the blame for everything bad that befell humanity at Cerberus' feet than on stopping the real culprits. She hated to admit that Cerberus was right about anything, but these colonists were victims and they were being ignored. It was just like the orphan duct rats back on the Citadel, slipping through cracks in a system that should have been helping them, but wasn't.

No one was looking out for those kids, so Shepard had stepped up. Here, on a larger scale, there were people who needed help, and Shepard was fully prepared to do whatever was in her power to help them.

They weren't able to stay in communication as they'd been ordered. The seeker swarms were interfering with long-range frequencies, leaving them more or less on their own. Shepard stuck to the plan, though, securing the perimeter and then moving towards a rendezvous with Garrus' team in the colony's interior. As they moved in, her radio crackled to life; they were close enough for the short-range radios to kick in, and there was the reassuring sound of Garrus' deep, commanding voice. She didn't bother trying to hide the smile that spread over her face at the sound.

“Vakarian! Shepard here. We're coming in at-” she checked her visor's display, “200 meters out, east of your position. Have you heard from the Commander?”

“Shepard! Damn, it's good to hear your voice. Yeah, Kaidan and his team made it to the main grid. A tech there sent them to recalibrate the colony's defense towers, but we lost contact. We're making our way there now. The area over here is hot, we're in Collectors up to our elbows and- damn! Just had a pair of Scions drop in. Sure would be nice to have you on our six.”

“Copy that, we're moving in fast.”

The arrival of Shepard's squad more than doubled the firepower, and they made short work of the Collector forces. Spreading the team out in a wide arc, they closed on the main transmitter for the defense tower, the last known destination for Kaidan's team. Enemy resistance was minimal.

They came over a rise in time to see the defense tower's guns coming to life, rotating in unison to target the Collector Ship that squatted in the center of colony, and opening fire. In the same instant, their short-range radios came withing range of Kaidan's team, and they could hear Miranda shouting, “They're pulling out!” as the massive, misshapen ship roared to life and lurched into the sky.

Shepard signaled the team to move in, and they surged forward, finding their way into the courtyard where the main transmitter was.

There were no enemies in sight, just the rapidly dissolving carapace of a Praetorian that lay smoking on the ground. Kaidan and his squad were on the far side of the courtyard; as they moved in closer, Shepard could see a handful of other people, civilians it looked like, and one heavily armored woman with her dark hair twisted back in a bun, in an intense conversation with the Commander. A moment later, she'd stepped forward, wrapping her arms around Kaidan, who held her close in a tight, intimate embrace.

“Ashley?” Garrus said aloud.

The group slowed to a walk, approaching cautiously. Whatever was going on, the discussion did not appear to be going well. After stepping back from one another, both parties grew tense; the female soldier was gesturing angrily, Kaidan's body language becoming defensive. Just as Shepard was within earshot, the woman spun sharply on her heel, turning her back on Kaidan and marching away. He made as if to go after her, but Garrus stepped forward and caught his arm.

“She needs time,” he said to his old friend, voice calming.

“No- Garrus, she said I betrayed the Alliance, I have to make her understand-” Kaidan struggled against the turian's grip, his distinctive brows crinkled together in a kind of plaintive desperation, his golden-brown eyes gone slightly wild.

“Commander, relax. _Relax_. Let her go.” Garrus seized on to both the biotic's arms, firmly holding him in place. Kaidan, however, was only growing more erratic.

“Cerberus- is here... to help! To help- to help- humanity...”

Garrus was looking frankly alarmed, and even Miranda's cool demeanor seemed to have broken as she looked askance at the babbling Spectre.

That was when Shepard spotted the trickle of blood coming from Kaidan's nose. She rounded on the Cerberus operative angrily. “Stop, Miranda, stop, whatever you're doing, stop!” she shouted, as Miranda tapped away frantically at something in her omnitool. The trickle became a downpour, and Kaidan's eyes rolled back in his head as he fell to the ground.

“I'm not doing anything,” Miranda cried, her voice panicked. “Something is wrong, it shouldn't be doing this he- he's fighting too hard!”

Kaidan was twitching, his booted feet and armored shoulders kicking up little clouds of brown dust from the dry ground. Blood had begun to pour from his right ear, near where his L2 implant was.

“Normandy! Normandy, come in! Joker, EDI, are you reading us?” Shepard bellowed into the comm.

“We read you, Shepard,” Joker replied, sounding alarmed at her tone. “What's going on down there?”

“Get an evac shuttle down here, now! And have Chakwas on board! There's something wrong with Kaidan.”

 

Most of the specialists, unsure of what to do or say, retreated quietly to their respective hidey-holes around the Normandy once back aboard. Shepard, Garrus, Jacob and, unexpectedly, Jack, sat somberly around the mess hall table in silence. Dr. Chakwas had turned the medbay windows opaque, to give Kaidan his privacy while she tended to him. Miranda was the only person allowed inside the room.

After several hours, late into the Normandy's night cycle, Dr. Chakwas emerged. Shepard, half asleep and listing against Garrus' shoulder, jerked awake.

“He's going to be alright,” Dr. Chakwas reassured them, raising a calming hand as Jacob half stood up in alarm. He slouched back into his chair, relief etched across a good-looking face that wasn't suited to the worry lines it had been sporting a moment before. This appeared to be all the news Jack was waiting for. She shot a single look of concern at the door of the medbay, before stalking off to the lift muttering “fucking Cerberus” under her breath.

“He'll need some time to recover,” Dr. Chakwas continued, ignoring Jack's abrupt departure. “Operative Lawson and EDI were most beneficial in helping me remove the damaged circuitry in the L2 implant. Right now, he needs rest, as do the rest of you. Rest assured that I will keep you updated on his status.”

Jacob nodded solemnly. “Thanks, Doc. That's all we could ask for.” He stood and ambled toward the crew quarters, fatigue evident in the slouched line of his shoulders and slight drag of his feet.

“Is she still in there?” Shepard asked, leveling a glare at the medbay door.

“She helped, Shepard,” Dr. Chakwas said warningly. “If not for her knowledge, we might have lost him-” Shepard wasn't listening, though. She pushed past the doctor, eyes narrowed and lips twisted in a snarl.

The lights were dim, and Kaidan lay prone on a bed, bare chested with bandages around his head. Miranda was sitting at his side, head bowed.

“You short-sighted idiot,” Shepard hissed. “You nearly killed him with your compulsion to control everything, are you proud of yourself? Do you feel accomplished?”

Miranda looked up and Shepard stopped up short, her tirade dying inside her chest. Miranda's blue eyes were red-rimmed, tear tracks staining her cheeks, nose red and raw. Shepard was fleetingly comforted by the fact that at least the woman didn't look perfect all the time.

“You're right, Shepard. You're right. This is my fault.” Miranda's voice broke on the last word, and she turned back to the sleeping Spectre. She reached a hand out, gently brushing her fingers against the bandages on his head. “I never gave a second thought to taking away his freedom. I used him I- I needed him to achieve a goal and it never even occurred to me to just ask. I don't like variables, and rather than risk that he'd say no, I compelled him to join our cause. I needed a figurehead and there he was; the first human spectre. It seemed so perfect.”

Her face was tender as she gazed at the face of the comatose man, and realization crystallized in Shepard's mind. “You care about him,” she said, incredulous. “Really care.”

Miranda stiffened, drawing her hand back. “It's not that simple.”

“It doesn't matter. Whatever there is between you two, it wouldn't matter if you loved him or hated him. You brainwashed him, turned him into a puppet. I thought Cerberus cared about humanity. How could you do that to a person?”

“At the time, I felt the ends justified the means. Now, I'm not so sure.”

“You doubt? Good. You think long and hard about that. You stay here, and watch over him tonight, and remember that he is a person; that there has never been anyone like him and there never will be again, and that you took away all his agency to choose his own path in life. You stripped him of his identity, when you did that, and you nearly killed him.” Shepard turned sharply on her heel and left.

 

Garrus sat on the edge of his cot in the main battery, tensely waiting for a shipwide alarm to go off because Shepard and Miranda had blown out a bulkhead. He was startled when, in less time than he'd thought possible, Shepard came stomping in.

“I guess that answers whether or not you're alive,” he said, trying for humor to lighten her stormy face. “But what about Miranda?”

Shepard huffed loudly, rolling her eyes and then glaring at him. So, no humor then. Hands on her hips, Shepard was staring at the ground, kicking at nothing. “I'm angry with her, with Cerberus but- she knows what she did. A lecture from me won't change anything. And what I saw on Horizon today, well,” she paused, looking up at Garrus through a ragged fringe of red hair, “it made this mission a hell of a lot more real. Cerberus is right about one thing; someone's got to _do_ something.”

She shuffled over to his cot, sat on the edge of it beside him. “I just can't believe the way they treated the Commander. How dare they,” she said, still burning with that slow hot rage he'd seen in her before.

“You didn't know Kaidan before we recruited you. Why do you care so much?” Garrus asked, not sure what he wanted to hear.

“It's less to do with him personally and more to do with the principle of the thing. They took away his freewill. That is simply not something I can abide, the concept is repugnant to me on so many levels,” she replied, gesturing vaguely in an attempt to illustrate what she was saying. “I believe we choose our own path in life, and that no one has the right to limit our freedom to do so.” She peered at him out of the corner of her eye, a sudden half-smile pulling at her lips. “Why do you ask?”

“It's just, I've seen the way he looks at you and I thought- if you were still looking to blow off steam then maybe you were looking for something a little... closer to home.” He looked away as he spoke, not wanting to see her face. When she didn't respond immediately, though, he glanced back up. A gentle smile graced her face, and her eyes were soft. It had never occurred to him before that a human could be beautiful, but in that moment, his breath caught in his throat. Spirits.

“Garrus,” she said, and a little thrill went up his spine at the sound of his name in that throaty alto. “I don't care if Kaidan 'looks' at me. Jacob looks at me, too. So does Engineer Donnelly, while we're on the subject. I'm not looking back, and it makes no difference to me whether they're human or not. I have no interest in the Commander as anything other than a friend and comrade. Nothing like the interest I have in you.”

Garrus wasn't prepared; he'd done plenty of research, but somehow had managed to put together an elaborate scenario in his imagination, involving music and wine and himself delivering incredibly smooth lines like something from a Blasto vid. He never thought, here, in the Normandy's main battery, on a rickety Cerberus cot- but Shepard didn't seem to care about his carefully constructed plans; suddenly she was in his lap, one hand cupping the back of his head, the other slowly gliding down his armored chest.

He knew that, during intimate moments, humans enjoyed kissing. Turian mouths were not well equipped to emulate that practice, but Shepard did not appear to expect this from him. She butted her cheek gently against his; turned her face against the sensitive skin of his neck, and he shuddered with pleasure at the feel of her moist tongue creating a wet swirling trail there, her teeth gently nipping at him. She was clearly versed in turian practices.

She angled her head, letting her silky human hair slip back and exposing her neck and jaw. He breathed in her scent, the sweet musk he would forever associate with this remarkable woman. With a soft groan he leaned in, his longer and more agile turian tongue taking a taste of her soft human skin. She was sweet, organic, utterly unlike the faintly metallic taste of a turian or even the heady spice of an asari. He nibbled at her earlobe as he might a turian female's mandible, and was rewarded with a pleasured gasp. _This is going to work_ , he thought, relief mixing with desire.

The cot was going to be far too narrow. With one free hand, he pulled the blanket loose, flinging it across the floor in an uneven arc, trying to ignore the mounting pressure in the lower regions of his armor. One of her hands, with it's multitude of clever human fingers, was doing things to the sensitive unarmored skin at the base of his skull, moving up under the edges of his fringe; the other hand was deftly pulling open the fastenings of his armor. He ran his hands down her back and across the lean curvature of the waist he'd been trying to imagine unarmored for weeks, over the curve her hips, then took a firm grip under her thighs as he stood. She gasped when he lifted her, and while she was heavier than he expected, being in full armor, he was rather pleased with himself for not dropping her. She seized onto his shoulders as he gently knelt on the floor, laying her out on the blanket before him.

Their eyes met, icy blue and smoldering green.

“Shepard, I-”

She pressed her fingers to his mouth, silencing him. “I want this,” she said. And spirits, so did he.

 

Miranda stood utterly expressionless before the Illusive Man in the QEC, relaying the Horizon mission report without emotion. She was flanked on either side by the other two squad leaders, Garrus and Shepard.

There was a long silence when she was finished. The Illusive Man stood, pacing away from his chair with his back to them, gazing at something they could not see. Miranda had been in his office, and could well imagine the view of the dying star that dominated the room in that direction. After a moment of contemplation, he turned back, keeping his eyes downcast as he sipped at his brandy.

“If nothing else, Horizon has proved that we still have a long way to go before we are prepared to take on the Collectors,” he finally said. “Continue your recruitment efforts; make any upgrades to the Normandy you deem necessary, and be sure all personal affairs are in order.”

“Of course,” Miranda said, with a sharp nod.

“Will Commander Alenko recover?”

“Dr. Chakwas assures me all he needs is rest, and time,” Miranda replied, keeping her voice even so as not to betray her tension.

“You miscalculated, Miranda. I expect better of you.”

“I accept full responsibility. Until the Commander is on his feet again, I am fully prepared to take lead of the mission-”

“No.”

“Sir?”

“I can't risk another... miscalculation. I didn't spend billions of credits bringing the first human Spectre over to our side, just to have him burn out before our mission is completed.” The Illusive Man swirled the ice in his brandy, looking past Miranda's right shoulder. “Shepard will take over from here. Until the Commander is himself again.”

Miranda half turned, startled, to look at Shepard, who stood up straight, looking equally startled.

“Me?” she exclaimed in alarm.

“The crew looks up to you. And while the galaxy believes Commander Alenko defeated Saren, and by extension, Sovereign, during the Battle of the Citadel, you and I know better.” The Illusive Man sat down, crossing one leg over the other, the picture of detached refinement. Miranda sensed, rather than saw, Shepard exchanging looks with Garrus. Out of the corner of her eye, he seemed to nod to her encouragingly.

Shepard crossed her arms over her chest, looking determined. “Just point me in the right direction.”

 

 

 


	7. Familiar Faces

This marked only the second time Shepard had been summoned to Miranda's office. Generally speaking, the door remained firmly shut, the owner barricaded firmly inside. When Shepard had first been recruited, she'd found herself pulled inside and given an 'interview' of sorts, a series of probing, rapid-fire questions that were more like an interrogation, before being unceremoniously shoved back out into the hallway in a matter of less than ten minutes.

She took this opportunity to really take in her surroundings; the spacious office reflected the woman sitting uncomfortably behind the desk. It had a modern, executive feeling, with a wide, gleaming desktop, modular shelves lined neatly with books, and a large window with a view of the stars. Everything had a place, and a purpose, and yet the combination was anything but utilitarian. Somehow it all came together just so, and created a room that was aesthetically pleasing; one might even say, beautiful. _I suppose it suits her_ , Shepard thought.

“Shepard,” Miranda said, and her tone was slightly strained. Shepard kept her face neutral, but she did not sit, refusing to put the other woman at ease. Instead, she stood with her feet apart and hands clasped loosely behind her back, eyebrows faintly arched. Her visor readout showed that Miranda's pulse was slightly elevated; she was nervous about something. “This mission is now your mission, and that puts me in the unpleasant position of asking for your help.”

“Tell me what's on your mind,” Shepard invited.

“I'm aware that the Illusive Man declassified all pertinent information, and that by now you've read my file. You know that I am the product of man obsessed with perfection; what you don't know is that I was not the only child he engineered in his quest to create a dynasty.”

“There are more of you? Clones?” Shepard asked, not sure if the galaxy was prepared to handle more than one Miranda Lawson.

“Nothing so science-fiction,” Miranda said with the faintest of smiles. “I have a sister, my genetic twin, but still a child. As long as I have been working for them, Cerberus has been protecting her, and the family raising her. As far as they know, they've taken in an orphan; neither she nor her family are aware of me, Cerberus, or my father.” Miranda stood, and began pacing restlessly. Although her tone remained calm, she was clearly agitated. “They've been living a happy, normal life. But it seems my father has tracked her down. I'm having the family moved to somewhere new, somewhere safer. In the spirit of setting personal distractions aside and focusing on the mission, I'd like to go to Illium to oversee their relocation personally.” She rubbed nervously at her shoulder, avoiding eye contact while she spoke; she seemed to be waiting for her request to be turned down.

Part of Shepard wanted to refuse, wanted to leave the flawless Miss Lawson spinning in the wind after what she'd been a party to. But her imagination, without any prompting, had conjured up an image of a face like Miranda's, but youthful and round, unhardened by years of work in a shadowy organization; of a decent and good couple who chose to take in a orphan. There were a shortage of happy families in the galaxy, and regardless of her personal feelings, she wasn't going to let harm come to them just to spite a woman she was angry with.

Still, she let the silence draw out; there was no use pretending to herself that she did not enjoy Miranda's discomfort.

“I'll- I'll leave that for your consideration, Shepard,” Miranda said awkwardly in the face of Shepard's unresponsive stare. “Meanwhile, I recently received an information packet I think you'll want to see. One of the specialists Commander Alenko expressed an interest in recruiting we had to sideline until we could nail down her location. We've located her on a planet called Haestrom.” Miranda scooped up a datapad from her desk, handing it to Shepard. Scanning its contents, Shepard nodded to herself.

“Oh, Alenko's gonna love this,” she said. “Good work, Lawson. We have other reasons to go to Illium, so I suppose we can look in on this sister of yours. _After_ we take care of this.” Shepard tossed the datapad back on to Miranda's desk, the words ' **Dossier: Quarian Machinist** ' scrolling across the top in bold letters.

 ***

Words could not express Tali's joy at the sight of her old friend, Garrus Vakarian. Maybe it was just the after-effects of the adrenaline high that had been keeping her going for countless hours, but when he burst into the bunker where she'd holed up, she was very nearly awestruck. Standing framed in the doorway for an instant in a cloud of smoke and rubble, the butt of his rifle resting against his hip, he seemed larger than life, looking like a character from an action vid.

His mandibles flared in a familiar grin when he spotted her, and she found herself running into his arms as he covered the ground between them in a few long strides, scooping her into a long hug in an uncharacteristic display of affection.

“Garrus!” she said fondly, pulling reluctantly out of the embrace. “You are the last person I expected to see.”

“I'm just glad we found you alive,” Garrus answered. “Things looked pretty bad out there.”

“We knew this mission was high-risk. Damn it! But, who did I speak to on the radio before?”

“Me,” came a voice, and Tali looked past Garrus shoulder to see the trio of people who were trailing in the door behind him. His companions were two human females she didn't recognize, one of them petite with her face hidden in the shadows of a hood, the other, the one who'd spoken, a tall soldier with the arm of a limping quarian pulled over her shoulder.

“Reegar!” Tali cried, rushing forward to the quarian's side. “You made it!”

“Thanks to your friends here. You traveled with a tough crowd, ma'am. Damn colossus never stood a chance,” Kal'Reegar remarked cheerfully, though his hand was clamped to his side where his suit was ruptured.

“Are you hurt?” Tali asked, pulling up his suit readouts on her omnitool. His vitals were strong, and it looked as though he'd recently had an infusion of antibiotics.

 “He'll live,” said the soldier supporting him, easing Reegar to a sitting position propped against the wall. She stood, dusting off her armor and resettling the weapons on her back. Tali stared at her face, wracking her brain; the red-haired human was familiar, but she couldn't seem to place her. “I just gave him a fresh injection of antibiotics,” the woman remarked, opening her omnitool and tapping into Reegar's suit readout. A human who knows how to interface with a quarian envirosuit? she thought, and then it hit her.

“I know you,” Tali blurted. “You're the Shepard!”

The Shepard looked startled, but she was giving Tali a measuring look. Tali was suddenly self-conscious; it had been years, and she could hardly expect the Shepard to remember the lone wounded quarian, especially as Tali was now an adult, with a new envirosuit, a new name...

“Tali?” Shepard said, and all Tali could do was stand there and nod. “Tali'Zorah nar Rayya?”

“Vas Neema,” Tali corrected. The Shepard smiled widely, almost looking proud.

“You had a successful pilgrimage! Well done, Tali'Zorah Vas Neema.”

Tali shook her head in disbelief. “Thank you,” she said, honestly flattered. She didn't think she'd mentioned being on her pilgrimage during her brief interaction with the Shepard. The human appeared to know a thing or two about quarian culture beyond just interfacing with their suits.

 “I thought that name on the dossier sounded familiar. I might have recognized it sooner if you were still on your old ship; I can't believe I never realized that you were the quarian from the news, the one they said aided Commander Alenko in his pursuit of Saren. I told you I'd get you to the right people, didn't I?” Shepard was smiling, clearly pleased with herself. “I just didn't realize you'd be joining their cause.”

“So you two... have met?” Garrus asked, looking baffled. Reading his face, the Shepard threw back her head and laughed, a sound of genuine amusement.

“You are a terrible detective, Officer Vakarian. Did you never wonder why I sent you to Dr. Michel's clinic to get information on Saren?”

Comprehension was dawning on Garrus' face as the pieces fell together, while Tali slapped her hand against her face mask at the obvious connection.

“Keelah- you sent him to find me. Shepard, I think I owe you my life twice over. If Garrus and Kaidan hadn't come, I'm not sure if I could have gotten out of that scrape with the Shadowbroker's men on my own.”

“I'm sure this all makes for a great story,” Reegar interrupted, “but the geth could be sending in reinforcements. Maybe we could move this conversation shipside? Ma'am.” Tali recalled her surroundings, flushing guiltily.

“You're right, Reegar,” she answered, thinking of the marines who'd given their lives to protect her and the data on Haestrom's sun. “I think we've seen enough of this planet.”

 ***

Soft beeping and the quiet whir of machinery were the only sounds greeting Kaidan as he groggily gained awareness. His head ached and he felt miserable, as though the entire inner surface of his skull was a bruise. Thoughts came painfully, like being prodded in the tender swollen flesh that surrounded an injury, but he couldn't very well go on sleeping. He felt he'd been sleeping for days.

Digging the heels of his hands into the soft cushion of the medical cot, he exerted the monumental effort of pushing himself into a semi-upright position. The sheets rustled around his weakly scrabbling legs, and there was a sudden movement in his peripheral vision.

Turning his head, he met a pair of sleepily blinking glowing eyes behind a purple tinted facemask.

“Kaidan, you're awake,” Tali exclaimed, jerking upright from where she'd been slumped half asleep in chair. “Are you alright? Should I call Dr. Chakwas?” She reached toward her omnitool, but Kaidan stopped her with a weak wave of his hand.

“I'm alright, I'm alright. Just give me a minute.” Tali hovered, looking slightly helpless, as he spent another moment in the battle to sit up. He gave her a look of wordless gratitude when she stuffed a second pillow behind him for support once he'd gotten himself nearly upright. Happy just to be comfortably sitting up, he finally turned a curious gaze on his old friend.

“When did you get aboard the Normandy?” he asked. “When we saw you back on Freedom's Progress, you were pretty adamant you couldn't join the mission.” Not that he wasn't happy to see her; he was thrilled, in fact. It was reassuring to have yet another face from the old crew on board, and he and Tali had always gotten on well. Dr. Chakwas had informed him in a carefully controlled voice what had happened, and since having the control chip removed, he was no longer able to ignore the gaps in his memory going back nearly two years. Nothing during that time seemed real; even the the things he could remember were like watching an old 2D vid on miniature screen, detached and without emotion, as though it were all happening to someone else. But the memories of his life on the SR1? That was solid, and reassuring; a time when he was himself, and his team was loyal. He smiled weakly at Tali while she rambled on about her last mission. She'd always been talkative, and he'd missed the sound of her sweet voice through her mask filter.

“...when they told me what happened, how could I not come? Did you expect me to leave you in Cerberus' hands? I don't trust them, Kaidan. That Lawson woman was glued to your side when I got here, I had to have Dr. Chakwas chase her out.”

“Miranda? Where is she now?”

“It doesn't matter. I'm here now.” Tali reached out a three-fingered hand, curling it around his, and squeezing in gentle reassurance. “I understand why this mission is so important. If it were my people disappearing... I still don't trust Cerberus, but I suppose it's worth the risk. For now.”

 ***

It was past dusk and the sky was a deep blue, the cityscape of Nos Astra carved in outlines of reflective purple, lit from beneath by the orange glow of skycars snaking between the buildings. The view of Illium from the external cameras held Shepard spellbound as the Normandy docked, and Garrus found himself equally entranced watching her, seeing her face more relaxed than he'd seen it in the days since she'd taken over the mission.

Others of the crew pushed past them after the Normandy docked, scurrying off intent on business of their own while the ship was in port somewhere halfway civilized for once. Shepard's gaze remained transfixed on the skyline. She drifted slowly to the railings at the edge of the trade center, a soft smile on her face and wonder in her eyes. “The one thing the Citadel just can't seem to get right, is the sky,” she murmured.

He moved to her side, unconsciously mirroring her stance, leaning back with his hands resting on the rail, head slightly tilted as he took in the view. Their silence was companionable, the moment near perfect, and Garrus could feel tension he hadn't realized was there easing out of his body. They hadn't been alone together since Horizon. Not since that heated encounter on the floor of the battery the night after Kaidan's breakdown. Shepard had steadfastly shouldered the responsibility for the mission, and been doing an admirable job, but she now spent all her time mired in research reports on prototype equipment and ship upgrades, doing intelligence analysis and sifting through recruit dossiers. She hadn't mentioned their tryst, and neither had he.

That didn't mean Garrus wasn't thinking about it.

It had been rough and graceless, without finesse. He'd been caught up in his own desire, to be closer to her, the woman who had eluded him for so long, maddeningly clever and unexpectedly magnetic. It wasn't enough to have her legs twined around him, mouth hot and wet on his skin; he'd pressed himself against her, not sure what he wanted, just knowing he wanted more. When he felt her arm snake around his waist, her hips bucking up to meet his, her hand gripping his head and pulling his face close to her neck, he was unable to restrain himself; before he knew it, they were rutting like animals on the floor. They'd both been eager, too eager perhaps, urgent and demanding; it was over all too soon. She was straightening her armor and snapping it back into place before he'd realized neither of them had even disrobed completely. _Real classy, Vakarian_ , he thought. _Just bring out the business end and get what you came for._

He found himself sitting in the tangled blanket, propped on the heels of his hands and staring down at his chest, looking for something to say. She'd smiled softly- as she was doing now- and placed a hand over his, squeezing gently. And then she'd left.

A gentle squeeze of his hand brought him back to the present. He looked down, startled, at her hand resting on his, then up at her face. The small, soft smile stretched into a slightly more mischievous grin. “What's on your mind, Vakarian?”

Turians might not blush, but they weren't without their own embarrassed reactions. Inaudible to her human ears, he heard his subvocals emitting the high trill of nervousness that, were any other turian present, would be the equivalent of of a human flushing a bright red. Garrus cleared his throat, the only way to stifle his subharmonics enough so he could speak in a normal tone of voice.

“Just thinking about Illium. We were always told that it was one of the safest places in the galaxy... until you fell off the grid. Sign the wrong contract, join up with the wrong company, or walk down the wrong alley? And it's as dangerous as anywhere else.”

“Sounds like my kind of place.”

“Don't let this place fool you. It's no safer here than Omega.”

“I thought about living here for awhile,” interjected Kasumi. Shepard snatched her hand away as they turned to greet the thief, approaching from the direction of the Normandy with Tali in tow. “But everybody's so tight ass. It's all about money to these people.”

“Still sounds like my kind of place,” Shepard responded, a predatory grin on her face. “They've got money to spare, and I can think of some mighty good uses for it.”

“That's the thing with you, Shepard. Always feeding the hungry and curing the sick, taking from the rich to give to the poor, acting like a space age Robin Hood. You never do anything for yourself. Where's the fun in that?” Kasumi spread her arms wide, as if to encompass herself and all her motivations between them. “I do what I do for the love of it.”

“Uh-huh. I recall you mentioning that once or twice or a hundred times,” Shepard remarked drily as she moved away from the railing. Kasumi moved up to walk beside her, Tali and Garrus falling in behind them.

“Does Liara know we're coming?” Tali asked. Garrus noted that she carried herself with more assured confidence than she used to; she'd matured a great deal in the past two years. He felt a slight twinge of guilt as he recalled the way he used to talk down to her; she hadn't been much more than a child, then, and he'd been a hotheaded know-it-all. What a difference a few short years could make.

“There is very little Liara _doesn't_ know these days,” Shepard replied over her shoulder as the foursome cut through the crowd.

“And I wonder if she knows that you and Shepard were holding hands,” Tali murmured in an undertone to Garrus, giving him a sidelong look. He heard his subvocals trilling again and loudly cleared his throat, though he was sure the quarian couldn't hear it any more than the humans could. He thought it best not to comment.

 ***

Liara rose to greet her old friends with a smile on her face. One at a time, she folded each of them in a warm embrace, trying not to cling while she fought overwhelming nostalgia for the Normandy SR1 and the unexpected adventures she'd had while aboard her. It had been a long and eventful few years since those days.

She was fully aware of the presence of another woman in the room, lurking in the corner under cover of tactical cloak. Liara knew all about Kasumi Goto, but she also knew the thief liked to keep a low profile, so she respected her decision to remain covert and pretended not to know she was there.

Tali gracefully perched on the edge of the desk, a far cry from the nervous youth lurking in engineering that Liara recalled. Garrus leaned in the door frame, new scars on his face, and brooded with a distant look in his eyes. Whatever had befallen him since they'd gone their separate ways seemed to weigh heavily on his shoulders.

The Shepard sat directly across from Liara, regarding her with a cool but not unfriendly gaze, running a thumb absently over a glowing red scar on her jaw. “Before anything else, do you have anything for me from our mutual associate?” she asked, one eyebrow raised. Liara smiled and slid a datapad across the desk. Shepard's unofficial Spectre status was on a need-to-know basis, so Council requests and Alliance missions were by necessity filtered through an impartial third party: a convenient job for a well-connected asari information broker. Most of the assignments came to her from Admiral Hackett himself, who leaned on Shepard heavily to accomplish things that weren't officially sanctioned by the Alliance, but still needed doing. In another time, the man would have made a formidable Spectre himself.

Shepard accepted the datapad, synching it to her omnitool and downloading the data packet in a matter of seconds. Liara gave her a long, expectant look.

“What?”

“Forgetting something?”

Shepard grumbled and started flicking through files on her omnitool's display, while Tali and Garrus exchanged puzzled looks. Finally, she transferred something back onto the datapad, and returned it to Liara. “I hate mission reports.”

“You are also terrible at them, but as you are always generous about my fees, and I don't mind cleaning these up before I pass them on,” Liara said, eyes skimming the datapad. “Now, what else brings you to Illium? It's not often I get the pleasure of a personal visit, and never before in such fine company.” She smiled at her old friends.

“Oh, you don't _know_?” Shepard teased.

“A good information broker never reveals all she knows,” Liara returned with coy smile. Then she sobered, and made herself ask the question that had been gnawing at her since she'd received word that the Normandy had entered the Tasale system. “How is Kaidan?”

“Recovering. Going stir crazy in the medbay. He might appreciate a visit, while we're in port.” Shepard seemed unconcerned, leaning back in her chair and propping her booted feet on the table. Liara breathed an internal sigh of relief. He was going to be alright. When she'd discovered what had happened, she'd been overwhelmed with guilt. She felt personally responsible for Kaidan ending up a plaything in Cerberus' hands. When the guilt had receded, it had been replaced with righteous anger, and it was just as well that there wasn't an information broker in the galaxy who had the Illusive Man's location to sell to her, or she'd likely have gone after him that very night. Mind control was not what she had agreed to when she had been persuaded to leave the Commander with Cerberus. But Shepard didn't know about any of that, and neither did Kaidan, and there was no need for them to know.

“I think I'd like to see him. I'll stop in when I have the time. But business first; you haven't said what you need from me.”

Shepard grinned and shrugged. “I'm looking for some people, I thought you could help me find them. What have you heard about an asari justicar, and a drell assassin?”

 ***

The atmosphere in the cargo hold was particularly relaxed, quiet and subdued. The usual crowd had gathered, though as the hour grew late, only a few remained. Jack, Zaeed, Jacob, and Joker were arranged around a crate playing cards; while Jack and Zaeed tried to one-up each other's impossible stories, neither noticed that Jacob was taking them for everything they were worth. Joker stubbornly refused to back out, in spite of the ever-dwindling pile of chips in his corner.

Not far away, Shepard, Kasumi, and Tali sat ranged in a half circle, gossiping like hens. Kasumi's legs were folded primly beneath her, her back perfectly erect, as though she were at a high tea ceremony instead of on a scuffed, dirty floor. Tali reclined against a yellow plastic barrel with her knees up, omnitool open and glowing eyes skimming the display while she made upgrades. Shepard sat with one leg bent, the other stretched long, straddling the corner of a crate spread with bits of disassembled tech while she modded various weapons. The conversation had started off with Tali extolling the virtues of her combat drone, and attempting to talk Kasumi into installing one on her omnitool, and Kasumi firmly refusing on the grounds she'd have to remove her tactical cloak, and like hell was she going to give that up. Somehow it drifted around instead to extolling the virtues of the various eligible bachelors aboard the Normandy.

“-it makes an impression on a woman to get rescued by a dashing young commander who let's her join his crew and and then goes off to save the galaxy,” Tali was saying. Even as she spoke, her fingers were flying across her omnitool, rewriting lines of programming like it was a second language.“I was hopelessly in love with Kaidan for weeks after I joined the Normandy's crew. At least, I thought I was. So was Liara, probably for the same reason. You should have seen it, when we met her, floating in that bubble!” Her laughter was a joyous, liquid sound, and was so infectious that Shepard found herself chuckling along. She was having a hard time reconciling that image, of a helplessly trapped young woman crying out for rescue, with the ruthless and self-sufficient information broker she had come to know over the past couple of years. To hear Tali tell it, Liara had been rather unsure of herself in those days, tentative and shy, until you brought up her work. That part, at least, sounded about right.

“If being rescued didn't do it, I imagine all that Prothean information in his head caught her attention,” Shepard remarked. Liara had studied Protheans for decades, looking for an answer to the mystery of their fate, and spoke of the vision from the Prothean beacon she'd seen in Kaidan's head with utter conviction; the Reapers had wiped out organic life millenia ago, and they were coming back to do it again. The Council might deny the rumors, but Shepard knew what she'd seen on the Citadel that day. It was burned into her memory.

Kasumi must have seen the smile drop from her face, because she playfully reached out and nudged Shepard's shoulder. “Who cares what's in his head, I'm more interested in what's in his pants!” Tali collapsed into giggles while Shepard shook her head, grinning. Kasumi shrugged. “What? He's a good looking guy! Don't pretend you haven't noticed. Have you seen that ass?”

“Don't get your hopes up,” Tali warned, voice still bubbling with laughter. “He only ever had eyes for Ashley back on the SR1. I heard him tell Jenkins once that he prefers 'adventurous' women.”

“That's alright. I can still look. And he's not the only piece of eye candy on this ship,” Kasumi replied, shooting a meaningful look over at Jacob, who was pulling another armful of chips in with a satisfied grin. “Mmm. Jackpot.”

“One of these days your tactical cloak is going to fail, and he's going to catch you creeping around the room while he works out,” Shepard warned. Her tone was teasing, but her face was lined in concentration while she fine-tuned the upgrade she was putting on her pistol, eyes glued to the delicate circuitry, so she didn't see Kasumi roll her eyes.

“My tactical cloaks never fail,” she boasted. “Why? Did yours drop the last time you were creeping around the forward battery?”

Shepard's hand slipped, and the circuit board sparked, giving her a tiny shock. She glared at Kasumi, trying to fight the warmth rising in her cheeks. “I do _not_ creep around the battery.”

“Aha!” Tali crowed. “I thought I saw you and Garrus holding hands today!”

“We weren't _holding_ hands, we were just... touching. Hands. That's all.” Shepard attempted to avoid the gazes of the other two women, without success. Even through her visor, Tali managed to evoke an unconvinced expression, while Kasumi's face was a mask of solid disbelief. “Look, it's not like that, OK?”

“Why not?” Tali cocked her head inquisitively. “I think he really likes you.”

“Garrus is... exciting. He makes a nice distraction, but there isn't anything more to it.”

Tali drew her head back, seemingly slightly offended. “He's a good man, Shepard. Don't play games with him.”

“He _is_ a good man. Maybe I'm not a good woman.”

Kasumi sported a slightly knowing look that Shepard had seen before, one that always came before she said something infuriatingly insightful. “You like him, too,” she observed, and Shepard gave a small sigh of exasperation. “You're afraid.”

Shepard clenched a fist. “Kasumi,” she said warningly.

“You can't keep going on like you have been,” Kasumi insisted, pushing the topic. “You can't keep taking men to bed and keeping them out of your heart. It's OK to love again.”

“Drop it,” Shepard said, glaring.

Thankfully she was saved at that moment by the soft ding of the lift, it's doors whooshing open to reveal someone completely unexpected: Miranda. She strode into the cargo bay with her usual confidence, seemingly oblivious to the slight hush that fell upon her arrival. Shepard, however, had not missed that split-second of hesitation on the threshold.

She approached the three of them where they sat. “Shepard.”

“Operative Lawson. What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to-” and she stopped, biting her lip. She looked at the ground, then back up, meeting Shepard's gaze. “I wanted to apologize. When the Illusive Man put you in charge, I didn't fully believe you'd be up to the task, and it seems I was wrong.” She twisted her hands nervously, which was very unlike her. She'd been as ill-at-ease as Shepard had ever seen her during the entirety of the mission to protect her sister. Miranda Lawson was a woman who didn't let emotion control her, but the day's events had been close enough to her heart to break even her cool. “And I wanted to thank you, for helping me keep Oriana safe today.”

If she knew nothing else about the woman, Shepard knew she would do anything to protect that girl. She understood that feeling.

Shepard gestured at nearby crate in invitation, and was rewarded with an small smile. “Sit down, Miranda. You spent a long time talking to Oriana today. Tell me about her.”

 ***

The following evening in the cargo hold, Garrus found himself brooding. He knew he was doing it, but he couldn't help it, leaning one shoulder idly against the wall, eyes following Shepard's every move as she sparred with Grunt. He was trying to figure out where he stood with the woman.

Their mission to recruit the Asari Justicar that day had gone well. _Very_ well. Garrus was able to put his extensive skills as a C-Sec investigator to good use, for once, tracking down the Eclipse merc Wasea, and obtaining from her intel for a personal mission of the Justicar's while she waited in temporary detainment with the Nos Astra authorities.

Shepard had insisted he take point on the mission. _We already had one commander go down; if something happens to me, I want the crew to be used to taking direction from you,_ she'd said, and he reluctantly agreed. It had certainly been satisfying, to be on the hunt for a criminal again, to be leading a squad like he used to. He gave orders with authority, and Tali and Jacob had followed without question, as they closed in on the Eclipse mercs holed up in a shipping warehouse. Shepard had come along, too, but hung back, tailing them with her tactical cloak on, lurking on overhead catwalks and sniping the occasional merc who'd slipped behind the team. He experienced a tiny thrill of excitement, recalling her considerable stealth, and how dangerous she could be.

When they'd located Wasea, he saw Shepard drop silently to the ground behind her. She'd lunged swiftly forward, attempting to take the dangerous merc captain out, but the asari had sensed her, turning and sweeping Shepard aside with a powerful biotic wave. Shepard pinwheeled through the air, flailing like a ragdoll, but had provided enough of a distraction for Jacob to open a barrage of fire, bringing down Wasea's barriers. Garrus had charged forward, barreling into the woman, and ruthlessly snapping her neck before she could bring her grossly overpowered biotics back into play. Looking up with alarm to see if Shepard was alright, he saw that she had somehow managed to turn mid-air and fall into a three point landing, skidding across the floor in a kneeling position with one hand on the ground to slow her momentum, the other in the air for balance. She looked up and met his gaze, staring intently back at him with a sort of hungry excitement.

Before returning to the Normandy, she'd pulled him inside an empty shipping container, aggressively slamming him into a wall, her breathing heavy as she butted her face against his, hands pulling at his armor. Blood still pumping from the chase, he'd responded in kind, grabbing her hips and lifting as he reversed their positions, so that she was the one pressed against the wall, trapped up high between it and his armored chest.

And so again they'd found themselves in a state of half-dress, bodies colliding, Garrus muffling soft grunts against her neck while she threw her head back, biting her lip and whimpering softly. And like before, their passion burned hot and quick, and they were reporting back to Detective Anaya to get the Justicar released, without anyone realizing they'd disappeared.

Back on the Normandy, they avoided eye contact and acted casual. Then Shepard had disappeared behind closed doors with Miranda, all work and official business, followed by a long one-on-one conversation with their new specialist, the Justicar Samara.

And here they were tonight, and she still hadn't spoken a word to him, or even looked his way. Of course, if he were sparring with a krogan, he might keep his attention on his opponent, too.

As he watched, Shepard slipped past an angrily raging Grunt once again, after having goaded him into a charge. She was rarely out of armor, but tonight she'd freed herself of the bulkier pieces from the chest and arms for the sake of better agility while she trained with the young krogan. Her chest heaved with every breath, and her bare arms were slicked with sweat from her exertions. “Show me you're a true Krogan!” she bellowed at Grunt. “Not just the brawn, but the brains! Warlords aren't just the strongest, they're the smartest, that's where the power comes from! Learn to control that rage, make it work _for_ you, now come at me again and prove you're not just a tank bred waste of good genetics!” She slammed her fists into her chest in an invitation for attack, and Grunt charged again. This time, when she tried to sidestep him, he anticipated which direction she meant to take and intercepted her, slamming an arm into her torso, flipping her ass-over-head and landing her flat on her back.

She stood, dusting herself off and laughing. “Good!” she said, grinning fiercely. “That's my boy.”

Grunt was nearly beaming. “Sometimes the tank imprints are hard to understand. But it's making sense, now. Thank you, Battlemaster.”

“I wonder if she knows that when he says 'Battlemaster,' he means 'Mother.'”

Garrus turned, at the unexpected voice, to find the Justicar standing at his elbow. He inclined his head respectfully. Tales of the ancient order of Justicars were not unheard of amongst turians. “It does seem that way, doesn't it,” he replied, turning back to watch the sparring continue.

“I sensed a noble spirit in her when first we met, and so swore my oath in good conscience, “ Samara said, standing beside him with the erect carriage of a soldier at attention. “Imagine my distress when I looked into her previous exploits and learned that she was a criminal. And that you were the officer who had pursued her; you might have warned me.”

Garrus shrugged his shoulders in noncommittal response. “Imagine _my_ surprise when I found out there was more to her than that.” He thought back to the time they'd spent together when they'd traveled to Omega. They'd spent long nights awake, just talking to each other. They'd resumed those conversations in the early days of the current mission, before she'd taken command, sitting awake in the deserted mess hall, both meaning to go to bed but neither quite managing to make it there. He missed those nights already; he enjoyed her company more than he liked to admit. She was clever, and funny, and so very strong; not just physically, but sheer strength of will, a force of personality that had an effect on everyone around her. There wasn't a person on the Normandy who didn't like her. She could share her bed with anyone (not that they'd precisely made it to a bed just yet) and yet she came to him. He'd chased her for years, might have killed her if he'd had the chance, had ruthlessly interrogated her known associates and done everything in his power to bring her down. But now? She was swiftly working her way up to the top of a very short list of people he trusted. And she seemed to trust him, too.

“Your words are truth,” Samara said, observing Shepard's interactions with Grunt. “She has the heart of a protector; it is evident in her bond with the young one. She is like a mother, willing to go to any lengths to protect her young. I can understand this drive.” Garrus thought about Shepard's oversized brood of adopted duct rats, miscreant orphans and delinquent waifs of every age and race. A memory rose, of something she'd said years ago; _A name the locals gave me. For my good deeds_. He'd spoken those same words to Kaidan about his Archangel nickname without even realizing it.

“That's why they call her The Shepard,” he said aloud.

“Indeed,” Samara answered. “Her spirit is as noble as I had initially thought. However, I follow a Code which leaves little room for those who disregard the law. As long as I serve her, and her actions remain just, I will leave peaceably at the end of this mission. But if she calls for me to take an action which violates my code, I may be forced to kill her when this is through.”

Startled, Garrus shot a look at Samara. The Justicar's face was a mask of deadly seriousness. He turned back to see that Shepard now had Grunt sparring with Zaeed, while she had retreated to the sidelines. She was laughing at something Kasumi had said, and the rich, open sound washed over him, bringing with it an undeniable warmth. At her core, she was a good person. Her methods might be questionable, but her motives weren't. Didn't the ends justify the means? She was getting the job done, and that was what mattered. All he knew was that he intended to back her until this thing was through, and do his damnedest to keep her out of trouble along the way.

“Don't worry,” he told Samara. “We'll keep her on the straight and narrow for this mission. You can bet the Commander wouldn't let her try anything. You've never met a more honest man, with more integrity, than Commander Kaidan Alenko.” He gestured to the other side of the cargo bay, where Kaidan was helping Jack with biotic exercises.

Dr. Chakwas had tentatively allowed Kaidan to use his biotics again when he'd argued that he was never going to be able to identify any lingering problems with his implant if he didn't at least _try_. She had not cleared him for missions just yet, but said that training exercises with Jacob, Miranda, and Jack were allowable. When Jack had asked Kaidan to teach her his methods of precise control, the other specialists raised their eyebrows at eachother, but tried not to let the woman see their shock. She could do with a dose of control, but was as skittish as a feral animal; too much attention, and she'd retreat back to the subdecks and not be seen again for days.

As Samara and Garrus turned their attention to the biotic pair, Jack was throwing out a shockwave with a frustrated grunt, her most common reaction when she was angry. It was a weak and half-hearted gesture, lacking her usual animalistic rage. “Fuck this, this is stupid!” she snarled at Kaidan, but the face she turned to him was pleading.

“You can do this, Jack.”

“I didn't say I couldn't, Alenko! I can do anything you can do!” She shoved a finger into his chest as she spoke.

“Yes, you can. I believe that.” Kaidan remained unflappable.

“It's just stupid, OK? It's really fucking stupid, why learn the biotic control to tweak a man's nipples when I'd rather tear him apart!?”

“What if you got locked up again?” he asked. She rounded on him, a deadly look in her eye.

“I will _never_ be locked up again.”

“But imagine if you were. Sedated, like back on the Purgatory, where you couldn't use your full strength. But with this kind of biotic precision, all you need is enough of a push to trigger the locking mechanism on your restraints. Open the door from the other side, maybe. Take five and eat something, keep your energy up,” he said, handing her a protein bar from the stash he kept in a thigh pocket of his off-duty attire. “Then show me that you're not just a conduit for your biotics to work through, show me you can make that power work _for_ you.” Garrus wondered if Kaidan was consciously mimicking Shepard's earlier words to Grunt, or if it was coincidence. If Shepard was tempering Grunt's aggressive demeanor, then Kaidan was certainly working the same magic on Jack's wild nature.

“Your commander certainly seems an honorable man,” Samara said, observing the interchange between the two. “He has the heart of a teacher, and a wisdom beyond his years. It was he who led your mission first, wasn't it? But no more?”

“Yeah, Kaidan started this but he... he wasn't really given a choice. Honestly, I don't think he would have agreed to work with Cerberus if he had. Don't get me wrong, this mission needs doing but Kaidan... might not have been precisely the right man for the job. He knows what's at stake, and he won't abandon us now, but all of this rampaging around the terminus without sanctions from the Council or the Alliance? It just really isn't his style.”

“But this 'style' suits your Shepard?” Samara looked back toward the woman in question, who was currently telling a ribald joke with great gusto. Zaeed roared with laughter, and Kasumi was nearly rolling on the floor, while Grunt merely looked on with a puzzled expression. She looked up and caught Garrus' eye, a shark-toothed grin in a flushed face. He smiled back, mandibles flaring wide.

“That it does,” he replied.

 ***

This time, Miranda took point.

“Are you sure about this, Shepard?” she'd asked, puzzled.

“I'd like to see for myself what you're capable of, besides abuse of power.” The words stung, but Shepard had more to say before Miranda could respond. “However, as misguided as your actions regarding Commander Alenko were, that doesn't invalidate what you have accomplished. I still think you can be trusted, and more importantly, the rest of the squad needs to see me putting that trust in you. I want _them_ to trust you. This mission won't succeed unless we are all working together.” She had been firm on subject, and Miranda wasn't one to argue with a point well-made. At the very least, she wasn't being asked to work with the squadmates who distrusted her the most, Tali or worse yet, Jack.

Shepard had insisted on bringing Jack along while overseeing Oriana's relocation. At first, Miranda couldn't understand why. Later, she'd realized that, while not exactly friendly, Jack had become significantly less hostile. Shepard had known, somehow, that Jack needed to see Miranda as more than just a face for Cerberus, but as a human being. They'd never be friends, but neither did that mean they had to be enemies.

Still, Miranda was grateful that it was just Garrus and Shepard accompanying her to Dantius Towers that night.

Both were cautiously respectful of Miranda's direction as they worked their way up the tower in pursuit of their target, the drell assassin. Neither questioned her approach, or countered her authority; if either thought a different course would be better, they kept those thoughts to themselves. It was gratifying to be shown such faith from two people who, by all rights, would have been justified in never trusting a word she said again.

Everywhere they went, they encountered hostile Eclipse mercs who'd been called in by Nassana Dantius to stop the assassin who had targeted her. In a state of high alert, the mercs were shooting first and asking questions later. Once or twice, they came across night workers hiding behind locked doors. Some were wounded, some on the verge of a complete meltdown; all were terrified. Shepard was clearly angered by the needless deaths of the ones they'd seen on the lower floors, shot down in the halls or carelessly kicked through windows to fall to their deaths. But she seemed even angrier at those who were cowering in corners. Before Miranda could stop her, Shepard had knocked one cold with an armored fist when he threatened them with a wildly waving pistol.

“Learn to protect yourself better,” she snarled at his unconscious body where it slumped to the floor.

“Shepard, he's a civilian,” Miranda admonished. Shepard didn't even have the good grace to look ashamed, and simply glared at Miranda defiantly.

“If more civilians knew how to take care of themselves, they wouldn't need people like me swooping in to pull their asses out of the fire,” she shot back, eyes burning, an angry sneer in her voice.

“If people like Nassana Dantius weren't needlessly putting civilian lives in danger, then they wouldn't need protection,” Garrus responded, voice icy cold. “Maybe we should let the assassin finish his business here before we recruit him.”

Miranda had no response for that, so she simply moved ahead with the mission, signaling the pair to move to flanking positions around the elevator they were advancing towards. Deadly and efficient, Garrus moved to cover on one side, sighting down his scope, eyes locked on the door. Like a a mirror image, Shepard stationed herself on the opposite side, peering down the scope of her own deadly sniper rifle. Miranda activated the lift, then took cover of her own while they waited.

She reflected on Shepard's words. This was what the Illusive Man had seen in Shepard, that Miranda had not at first grasped. In her own, rough way, she _cared_ about people in a way that inspired loyalty. She fought hard and didn't back down, and those around her wanted to prove they could keep up with her, to show that they were worthy. She had won over Garrus completely, who had once wanted only to bring her down. Even Miranda now found herself desperate to demonstrate that was trustworthy, that she could be counted on. The Illusive Man was right; Shepard was the kind of person they wanted leading this mission. She just might be the one who could save them all.

The lift finally arrived with a soft chime, the doors sliding open to release a heavily armored krogan who came barreling out with an inarticulate battle cry. Miranda charged her biotics while Garrus and Shepard rained fire down on his head, and had little time left for thinking at that point.

 ***

The bridge between the towers had been windy and exposed, and so high Garrus dared not let himself think about how long the fall to his death could be if he wasn't careful. It was certainly one of the more thrilling firefights he'd ever been in.

Finally reaching Nassana's penthouse office, he and Shepard hung back and let Miranda take the lead. She strode in with her usual cool confidence, and he took a small delight at how her unimpressed demeanor seemed to infuriate Nassana. The asari in question didn't seem to remember him, but he remembered her; years ago, she'd worked at the embassies on the Citadel. He'd personally overheard her make a plea to Kaidan to rescue a sister she claimed had been taken by pirates. Kaidan had agreed to do the mission out of the goodness of his heart, but when they'd found the lost sister, they'd discovered that she herself was in fact the leader of the pirates, and that the whole thing had been an elaborate set up by Nassana to eliminate what she felt was a threat to her rising power.

Nassana and Miranda verbally sparred with one another, Miranda stalling for time while they waited for the assassin and Nassana attempting to buy protection. The Eclipse mercs at her back were high strung, flinching at every noise, wide-eyed and just this side of being in a full blown panic. The assassin had done an admirable job of terrifying them as he'd worked his way through the building, seeming to be in dozens of places at once. More than once they heard him making noisy kills on open radio channels, a tactic that was likely intentional.

Miranda's stalling worked. Behind Nassana, Garrus saw a shadow silently drop from the ceiling, with stealth that outmatched even Shepard's. While Nassana spoke, the shadow swiftly dispatched the guards behind her.

The last man standing was a turian. Alerted to the assassin's presence by the muffled cries of his fallen comrades, he turned to face him, forcing the assassin to take him down head on. As Garrus watched, the drell hit the turian with paired punches to the vulnerable plates just below the eyes, dropping an elbow to his collarbone as he swept a leg out, bringing the man to his knees. In the next instant, the assassin had vaulted over his downed enemy, seizing his head in both hands while spinning through the air, sharply snapping the man's neck.

Nassana turned, cut off mid-sentence by the drell's attack. She opened her mouth, but whatever she intended to say, she wasn't given a chance; the assassin already had the barrel of a pistol pressed to her ribs- had already pulled the trigger.

He caught her slumping body, cupping her head gently with one hand as he laid her out on her desk, crossing her arms over her chest with something like reverence. Clasping his hands in front of him, he bowed his head.

“Impressive,” Garrus remarked. “You certainly know how to make an entrance.” There had been something naggingly familiar about they way he'd taken out that turian...

The drell did not respond, hardly seeming aware of their presence in the room. The moment stretched long while Garrus traded a look with Miranda. Shepard's eyes were fixed on the assassin.

“We were hoping to talk to you,” Miranda said, breaking the silence.

“My apologies,” he answered. “But prayers for the wicked must not be forsaken.”

“Do you really think she deserves it?” Shepard said, her voice unusually harsh. Garrus shot her a look, but she was still intently focused on the man they'd come to recruit.

“Not for her. For me,” he answered, looking up and locking eyes with Shepard. “And for you. All this destruction, chaos... I was curious how far you'd go to find me. It has been too long, Siha.”


	8. Loyalty

It was late and the mess hall was mostly empty, but for Gardner wrapping up his nightly cleaning of the kitchen area. He insisted on hand washing dishes with real soap and water, dismissing the automated dishwasher with it's economizing waterless sanitization procedures as “not right.” “Damn thing doesn't know when to put in the elbow grease,” he'd grumbled when Donnelly had once suggested he just let the autowash handle the crusted pot he was scrubbing away at. He'd then gone on a long-winded diatribe about the human touch getting replaced by machines, complaining to anyone who'd listen about good men he knew who'd lost their jobs to VI's. The crew didn't ask anymore.

It wasn't until he finally headed off in the direction of the crew quarters that Kasumi let her tactical cloak fall. She wandered into the mess and fixed herself a cup of tea. Shepard hadn't come to bed yet, and Kasumi knew why. While she waited, she amused herself by rearranging Gardner's carefully ordered spices.

In time, she heard the lift arrive. A soft murmur of voices in the hall, a throaty chuckle from Shepard. Kasumi took her mug of tea to the table, and waited. A few moments later, she heard the doors to port observation closing, and then Garrus was sauntering past on his way to the battery.

“It's nice to see even aliens can't help that bounce in their step,” Kasumi said. Garrus spun around, startled. Kasumi perched on the edge of the table, tea cradled in her hands, eyes fixed on him.

“Kasumi I- I didn't see you there. It's really late, I thought you'd be-”

“-in bed? I could say the same to you.” She shifted her position and sat down on the thinly cushioned chair on one side of the table. With a pointed toe, she pushed out the chair on the other side of the table, inviting him to sit. Garrus remained standing, shifting slightly towards the battery doors.

“Shepard and I were just uh- just sparring, down in the cargo bay...” he stammered, rubbing at his neck and avoiding eye contact.

“I wasn't aware turian hand-to-hand techniques included bending your opponent over a crate.”

Garrus responded with an inarticulate noise, followed by a loud clearing of his throat. Kasumi sipped her tea calmly, giving him a moment to gather himself.

“Were you, uh... were you down in the..?”

“Relax, Garrus. Only for a minute. That wasn't the show I was looking for,” Kasumi reassured him, voice dry. His embarrassment did not abate, and he covered his face with a hand.

“Spirits.”

“We need to talk about Shepard,” Kasumi said, cutting straight to the point. Garrus continued to avoid eye contact, but he did slump into the chair opposite her.

“Is this the part where you tell me that if I break her heart, you'll break my neck? You don't have to worry, Kasumi. I have no intention of hurting her.”

“She's not the one I'm worried about, Garrus.” He looked up and met her eyes. She set her mug down with a soft clink on the table, but it seemed loud in the stillness of the empty room. “You're on her good side now, but I can see that you really like her, and you need to be careful. She spent years learning to be self-reliant, and if she thinks you're getting too close, she _will_ push you away. And I don't mean gently. She will chew you up and spit you out.”

Garrus accepted this information without comment. The tips of his talons tapped an irregular beat on the tabletop as he stared down at this chest, face introspective. “It's not like I haven't noticed,” he said finally. He was more perceptive than Kasumi had given him credit for. But then, he'd spent years studying the Shepard, and he had a reputation for being able to read people. “She never takes her armor off. I think about that a lot. I think about _her_ a lot.” He met Kasumi's gaze again, then glanced in the direction of life support, where the Normandy's newest resident specialist had settled in. “What do you know about Thane Krios?”

She'd accuse him of changing the subject, but she knew why he was asking. The tension between Thane and Shepard since the assassin had come aboard was so thick, even Grunt could sense it. Garrus bringing it up first was further evidence that he was paying attention. “What do _you_ know about Thane Krios,  Officer Vakarian?” Kasumi countered.

“His dossier says he's an assassin, quick-kill biotic specialist and expert sniper, but not much else. He matches the description of a drell suspect in a series of murders on the Citadel years ago. Wasn't my case, so I don't know all the details, but there aren't a lot of drell out there, so you remember it when one is mentioned. And he's got history with Shepard.”

“And Shepard? What do you know about her?”

He shrugged. “Strong. Sharp mind. Wicked shot, helluva fighter, but no formal training...” his voice trailed off, and Kasumi watched his face as the pieces fell together. “Krios?” he asked. She nodded. “When we recruited him he called her something, a name or a title, some word my translator didn't recognize. Siha. That mean anything to you?” His voice was calmly inquisitive, but his eyes watched her shrewdly, looking for telltale reactions; a practiced interrogator at work.

Kasumi shook her head. “I don't speak Drell any more than you do.”

“Then what _can_ you tell me?”

“He's known Shepard longer than me, longer than almost anyone else, except maybe Alrik. I know that she met him when she was young, and that he trained her. Alrik taught her a few things, sure, but Thane taught her a whole lot more. A few years back, he showed up on the Citadel and things were... different. I wasn't there, so most of this information is secondhand, but I understand that Thane was not himself. That he came to Shepard for help with something. Things got complicated, and then he left.”

“Complicated,” Garrus repeated. “I suppose that's one way of putting it. But why recruit him after he left her?”

“I suppose she thinks he's valuable to the mission, regardless of their history. But you've got it wrong. He didn't leave her- she made him leave. She told him to leave the Citadel, and not come back. He honored that promise.” Most of this information had come from Mouse. When Shepard was on the Citadel, he was like her shadow, so naturally he'd seen the whole thing. He'd idolized Thane, and had been visibly confused and heartbroken when he'd recounted the incident for Kasumi. “As far as I know, this is the first time they've seen each other since then,” she continued. “She's never talked about it to me. Shepard isn't one for living in the past.”

Garrus, for his part, was absorbing this new information in pensive silence, fingers still tapping out their staccato rhythm. Kasumi swirled the last of her tea around in the bottom of the mug, allowing him time to process it. Eventually, he shook his head, pushing himself up and away from the table.

“I might not know everything about Shepard's history, but I do know how she operates. She isn't going to let this thing with Thane complicate the mission, or stand in the way of our objective, any more than what's going on between me and her,” he said gruffly. “Whatever that is. Like you said, she isn't one for living in the past. And I appreciate the warning, but I knew what kind of woman she was when all this started. The fact of the matter is, I'm not ready to quit her. I want to see where this goes.”

 

 _Home_ , Shepard thought as the Normandy cut through the lavender haze of the Serpent Nebula and she caught sight of the Citadel. She felt a slight twinge in her chest as she gazed the station hanging there in the sky, all gleaming silver and twinkling lights, it's five arms opened wide as if to welcome her. It had only been a few months, but the stakes of the mission they were preparing for were so high, she felt it had been a lifetime. She hovered uselessly in the cockpit, watching Joker radio for docking clearance while EDI tapped into local comm buoys for news and communications. It was odd, to be arriving home at the helm of top-of-the-line frigate, rather than crammed in a cargo hold with the riffraff of dozens of other surly passengers in heavy armor. Traveling aboard the Normandy was luxurious by any standards, more so given her usual means of transport; Shepard pondered getting her own ship once all this was over. It never seemed necessary before, but she admitted she was developing a taste for setting her own course and calling her own shots.

She sensed, more than saw, Thane's approach. He stood quietly at her shoulder, saying nothing. She swallowed, mouth suddenly dry, and tried not to let his presence get under her skin. She reminded herself that she'd brought him here because he was a master of his trade; she'd met a lot of people in her travels who called themselves assassins, some just boasting, others quite skilled. But she had yet to find his equal. As far as Shepard was concerned, Thane Krios was the best assassin the galaxy had to offer.

The Normandy slid smoothly into port, the docking clamps locking onto her gently without the slightest tremor inside the ship. Shepard went over a mental checklist of things that needed to be taken care of. It was unlikely that they'd return to the Citadel again before their primary mission was through; they'd recruited everyone she wanted, and there were just a few upgrades left to make to ensure the Normandy would withstand the trip through the Omega-4 Relay. _If_ they found a way through the relay, which was a problem that had yet to be solved, but the Illusive Man had assured her that solutions were forthcoming.

She turned and left the cockpit, eyes straight ahead, long strides taking her past Thane without acknowledging his presence. He trailed her as she made her way to a terminal to load a credit chit with the stipend from Cerberus for general spending. She was hoping to track down a list of supplies Mess Sargent Gardner had requested. Thane remained a few paces behind her, still silent, but somehow impossible to ignore. Frustrated by his calm and unobtrusive presence, she finally turned to pin him with a rude glare.

“Did you need something, Krios?”

“I was merely hoping that we might track down Kolyat sooner rather than later. You are sure your information network can find him?” His face would appear expressionless to most, but she knew him, knew that face, intimately. There was something faintly pleading in his eyes, and a tightness in his jaw that betrayed an uncharacteristic tension. It occurred to her that he wasn't intentionally bothering her, that he was merely eager to get to his estranged son, who's last known whereabouts were somewhere on the sprawling space station.

“Remember who you're talking to, Thane,” Shepard reassured him, softening slightly. “No one steps foot on the Citadel without it getting back to me.” He flashed her a grateful look.

“Is that information network something I might be able to borrow?” asked Garrus, approaching unexpectedly from the armory. Shepard turned to him, a smile on her lips, but stopped short. Something was wrong; Garrus looked strained and angry. The smile fell from her face.

“Of course. What do you need?”

“One of the messages waiting for me when we came through the relay confirmed a lead on someone I've been looking for; it looks like he's here, on the Citadel.” His face was hard and uncompromising, and she was reminded of the single-minded way he'd pursued her all those years ago. Whoever it was he was looking for, he wanted him, _bad_. She nodded.

“Anything I can do to help. Thane and I have some business to take care of, but you tell me what you need to know and I'll get you the information. Can we- can we talk later?” Shepard was worried about Garrus. She could see his jaw clenching, teeth grinding behind his mandibles. She tried to catch his eye, but his gaze was unfocused, mind caught up in something only he could see.

“Later,” Garrus replied. “Sure. Later. I'm not feeling very social right now anyway.” Lost in thought, he drifted back towards the lift. Shepard watched him go, frowning.

“Uhh, Shepard? You're gonna wanna see this.” She glanced at the ceiling as Joker's voice over the comm broke her distraction, then doubled back to the cockpit. What could be wrong now? He swiveled around in his chair at her approach, pointing wordlessly up at monitor displaying one of the external video feeds; on it, the extended bridge now connecting the Normandy to the Citadel docking bay was clearly displayed. It was swarming with people. “Looks like someone alerted the press,” Joker commented, and she saw in an instant that he was right. Most of the individuals now lying in wait outside the Normandy's doors had hovering cambots over their shoulders, or were already relaying live reports to them, bright lights shining onto sober faces.

Shepard's mouth tightened into a grim line. Reporters. “Great,” she muttered. “Everyone wants the scoop on the Commander's involvement with Cerberus.” She folded her arms over her chest, tapping a toe while she frowned at the ground, considering her options. “Alright, here's the plan: Joker, I'm going to give you the names of some supply and delivery guys I trust. All basic ship resupply is to be ordered through online channels and delivered directly to the Normandy. We're on lockdown: no one leaves the ship. I don't want anyone talking. That goes double for former Alliance personnel, you got that? And that includes you.”

“Not a problem, Shepard, I'm not one for leisurely walks around the Presidium anyway.” Joker spun his chair back to the controls with an absent shrug. “What's your beef with the Alliance?”

“The last thing I need right now is word getting out about Alenko's control chip. He'll never be trusted again if people find out, and we need public support for this operation. Cerberus has enough of an image problem as it is.”

“So... the Alliance was right, and you don't want them saying 'I told you so?'”

“In a nutshell,” Shepard replied drily. She turned to address the glowing blue avatar that marked the “presence” of the ship's AI on the terminal at her left. “EDI, issue the notice shipwide. Let's give this at least one day, all requests to go aboard the Citadel will be considered in 24 hours, and must be approved by me personally. Clear?”

“Understood, Shepard.”

“And what about me?” Kaidan asked, stepping into the room unexpectedly. How much had he heard? She turned to Kaidan, face cool.

“What about you?”

“Do I need your permission to leave my own ship?” he asked, mouth unsmiling, jaw hard.

“For now? Yes.”

“I'm not going to talk to the press, Shepard, I just want to see Anderson while we're here. I owe him an explanation.”

“ _I_ don't owe him, or the Alliance, anything.” Shepard folded her arms tightly across her chest, leaning back against a console. Thane, who knew how to read a situation, casually slipped through the doorway and back into the CIC. Joker kept his face forward, but it was obvious he was listening hard. Neither Shepard nor Kaidan took notice of him.

“Look, this is my mission-”

“ _Was_ your mission. Now it's mine. And I aim to see it get's done right, and that means this is my call. All you want is to talk to Anderson? And tell him what, exactly?”

“The truth!” Kaidan declared, glaring at her from beneath lowered brows, gesturing angrily to emphasize his point. The fabric of his black and white civilian shirt pulled taught across his torso with the motion, distorting the yellow logo on his chest.

“Right. Tell him precisely the information I just said I don't want leaving this ship. I'll take your request under consideration, Commander, and I'll let you know.” Shepard made as if to move past him, but he caught her armored arm in passing.

“You can't keep me here,” he growled, face inches away.

“You're right. I can't,” Shepard answered, glaring back. “And I don't intend to.”

Startled, Kaidan snapped his mouth shut, dropping his hand. “But you just said-”

“I know what I said. Look, let me take care of the business I have here on the Citadel. Once we leave here, we likely aren't coming back. But you were never here of your own free will, and I'm not going to make you stay. Before we leave, you can go, and report to Anderson and the Council, tell them whatever you like. By the time they come for us, we'll be a trillion miles into the Terminus where they can't touch us. It's not my intent to hide the truth. I just need to delay it for a while, do you understand?” Kaidan had dropped his gaze and taken a step back, but with her final words, Shepard reached and clapped a hand on his shoulder, and he brought his gaze back to meet hers, brows drawn in confusion.

“You want me to... leave the mission? Completely, you want to leave me behind?”

“Up to this point, your actions were not your own. You can't be held responsible. But with that control chip out of you, the Alliance could court martial you if you continue carrying on with Cerberus. You don't need that. You're a hero, Alenko. Human children have got posters of you up on their walls, people quote you in commencement speeches, there are enterprising volus out there trying to get the rights to make a vid series out of you. Hell, _I_ looked up to you.” Kaidan blinked at this revelation, mouth dropping open. She brought her other hand up to his other shoulder, holding his gaze. “You're the good guy; let me be the bad guy.”

This time, he didn't stop her when she turned to leave. She was well aware that the galaxy would never her praise her as a hero, in spite of what she was doing here. She tried not to be bitter about it. Most people would never even know about this mission, and the people who were putting their lives on the line to stop the Collectors. Mordin had once commented with a casual shrug that this was how STG had always operated, but that didn't lessen the good that was being done by their actions, and Shepard couldn't help but agree. She was going to save humanity whether they liked it or not.

Passing back through the CIC, Thane slipped up beside her again. “And what of us, Siha?” he asked. Shepard winced slightly at the affectionate name, but he didn't appear to notice. “Do you intend to delay my mission, or do you have a plan to deal with the reporters? I do not care for publicity.”

“Neither do I,” she responded, a grin on her face and glint in her eyes as she turned her thoughts to the challenge ahead. “But you and I, my old friend... we know how to work around these things.”

C-Sec had shown up at some point and appeared to be herding the reporters away from the main dock door. The crowd pushed back, arguing freedom of the press, screaming that humanity had a right to know if their only Spectre had come back from the dead. In the ruckus, no one saw the access panel in the bottom of the Normandy soundlessly slide open, and two shadows drop from it onto a keeper catwalk. In the blink of an eye, they were both gone.

Thane trailed behind Shepard as they navigated the the hidden paths of the Citadel. As much as he knew the secret ways, Shepard knew them better, and he followed her lead without question. She was glad for that, and found herself slipping easily back into her old habits with him.

She'd been little more than a child when first she'd met him. He'd been using younger children to gather information and do surveillance on a mark; one of them had gotten into a bad scrape with some thugs in a back alley. Shepard had gone barreling in, rushing to the smaller child's defense, unaware that Thane had kept his eye on the boy and was prepared to extricate him After he'd swooped in to rescue them both, she'd turned to him and boldly declared _I can take care of myself._ Perhaps something in her fierce young demeanor impressed him, or perhaps he'd only been amused. Either way, he'd taken her under his wing and began to train her. Stealth and self defense, at first. She'd been a quick learner, though, and soon he was teaching her more aggressive combat and weapons skills.

There was no one Shepard owed more of her skill to than Thane Krios. His visits to the Citadel were infrequent, but he always sought her out, and there was always something new for her to learn. Their relationship was one of student and teacher, their bond a close one, in spite of the time spent apart. Years passed, and Shepard found her place there on the Citadel, taking care of the outcasts and the forgotten. _Drala'fa_ , Thane had called them: the ignored. His visits grew further and further apart, however, leaving Shepard wondering if she'd ever see her beloved teacher again.

Until the last time he'd come to the Citadel, and everything had changed.

Shepard held up a cautionary hand, and Thane came to a silent halt behind her. There were voices ahead. She eased out of the gap between the inner hull of the station and humming power conduits that they'd been crawling through, and looked ahead into a maintenance area that was seldom-used. Shepard had intended to slip into the access ducts on the other side of the room, and hadn't expected to encounter anyone here, aside from the occasional Keeper. But her visor readout showed clear life signs of three people beside the very ducts that led towards her goal. Their voices carried easily in the empty room, and she would have been able to hear their entire conversation even without her Cerberus-enhanced hearing.

“...it doesn't look like anyone comes through here, are you sure this is the right spot?” one voice was saying with distinctive turian flanging.

“It hasn't been that long. The rats use these ducts to get back to their little nest,” answered second voice, thick and heavy and clearly batarian. “Just set the trap and let's move on.”

Shepard had heard all she needed to hear. They were targeting her kids. Unacceptable. She raised a hand behind her, clenched fist to the small of her back, then swiftly twisted her fingers through a series of hand signals that she and Thane had used in the old days.  _Hostiles ahead. Three. Turian. Batarian._ _Unknown_ . After a few brief seconds, she felt the tips of Thane's fingers tapping back a reply against her wrist.  _Eliminate?_ She made an affirmative motion, then indicated he should target the turian. That batarian voice was familiar to her; she wanted to handle him herself. She activated her tactical cloak and crept forward. Thane slipped past her and melted into the shadows with an enviable skill; she relied heavily on her cloak, but he'd never needed one.

She eased up slowly, and circled around behind the two figures crouched in front of the open ducts. The turian was focused on her work, synchronizing the emitters for a crude kinetic net of some kind. Beside her, unexpectedly, was a vorcha. You didn't seen vorcha on the Citadel often, and with regenerative abilities were second only to krogan, they could be tough to kill. She'd best target the vorcha first.

The batarian stood ramrod straight, peering around the room with wide-eyed paranoia, as though he expected to be caught any moment. His fear was not unfounded; seeing his young face, Shepard recognized him as exactly who she'd feared. She felt her gut twist in anger and disappointment. It wasn't the first time she'd been betrayed by one of her own, but it was always a hard pill to swallow.

Shepard consciously loosened her muscles, preparing for hand-to-hand combat, then eased up close behind the dangerous vorcha with the intent of taking it out first. She didn't waste energy worrying about the turian, knowing that Thane, wherever he was, was only waiting on her signal to attack.

With a flick of her wrist, Shepard dropped her tactical cloak and extended her omniblade. In a single swift motion, she was plunging the blade upwards through the chest of the vorcha, twisting as she went to maximize damage. A heartbeat later, she was pulling the blade back, and with a quick whirl, had decapitated the hapless vorcha thug. In her peripheral vision, she saw Thane taking the turian down to one side, on the other side, the batarian turning around in slow reaction to the attack. Her Cerberus quickened reflexes allowed her to evade a wildly fired bullet that might otherwise have lodged in her shoulder. It skimmed her shields instead, but she was already closing in, deactivating her omniblade as she went; she wanted him alive. A blow to the wrist and he dropped his pistol; a flurry of hits targeting his chest, knocking the breath out of him, ending with a solid punch to the throat. The batarian crumpled under the onslaught. Shepard gave him one last solid kick in the side for good measure, before planting her knee on his chest, pinning him to the ground. She pulled her pistol and pushed the barrel sharply into the soft flesh under his jaw; Thane stood a few paces behind her, looking on with detachment.

“Selkon,” Shepard said, voice reasonable. “What the fuck.”

“Sh- Shepard,” the batarian choked out through a partially crushed windpipe. “Shit. I heard you were off station.”

“So you took the opportunity to what- what exactly is going on here, Selk? Traps for the kids, to capture them alive? Are you working with the fucking _slavers_ , Selk?” Shepard jabbed the pistol into his jaw that much harder. “You ungrateful piece of shit!”

“What choice did I have, Shepard? I need the credits!” Selkon's hands were scrabbling at the floor as he tried to push himself away from her. Shepard cracked him hard across the jaw with the butt of her gun.

“Shut up! I don't want to hear about it. You were one of us, once.”

The face Selkon turned on her was a bitter one. “Once! But not anymore. Not since the day you turned me out and said I was old enough to take care of myself. What was I supposed to do? I've got no family, no education... there's no respectable jobs for batarians in Citadel space, and the Hegemony has no room for a batarian raised by a human.” He bared his teeth at her, his anger seeming to overcome his pain. “I'm not even a good enough shot to sell myself as a merc. I had one thing to sell: information. I learned that from you. Maybe you shouldn't be so fucking surprised, Shepard.”

“I'm not surprised, Selk. You always did take the easy way out. I'm just disappointed; I hoped for something better for you.”

“Shepard, wait-”

“Goodbye, Selkon.” At that close of range, Shepard's pistol nearly liquefied the batarians head. Dark red blood, not unlike a human's, seemed to hang in the air in a fine mist where it erupted from the top of his skull, fragments of bone and brain creating an abstract picture in the splatter on the floor.

Shepard left his body where it lay, moving to dismantle the emitters on the poorly designed trap.

“Was that necessary, Shepard?” Thane asked. “You had him disabled. Could he not have been forgiven... could he not have been saved?”

She kept her eyes downcast. “Yes. It was necessary. Some people aren't worth saving.”

 

Garrus normally held a little bit back when he was sparring. It was common knowledge that he held top rankings in hand-to-hand, but there was little call for him to bring those skills to bear in the field given his preference for sniping. So his sparring with the other specialists in the cargo bay tended to weigh on the side of technical perfection, as though he were aiming for points in a simulation, and not real life damage. He was still very, very good, but Jack wondered if he'd ever been in an on-the-floor, knockdown fight for his life. He didn't want to hurt anyone, pulled his punches, and never stooped to dirty tricks.

It was strange watching him tonight, because he was clearly in hell of a mood. He wasn't holding back anymore, with a sort of furious intensity in his attacks, and there were even a few blows that were well below the belt. Jack had almost considered jumping in the ring herself, but she had no death wish. Jacob had thrown in the towel after barely two rounds, at which point Zaeed, who had no qualms about dirty tricks and hitting hard, had stepped in. The two of them had been at it for a while. Zaeed was clearly able to sense Garrus' mood, and refrained from his usual goads and bad one-liners. Typically, you couldn't get those two to shut up when they were sparring. Tonight, it was nothing but strained silence, punctuated with occasional grunts and the fleshy thwack of fists hitting home.

Jack eventually gave up on her biotics practice, unable to focus what with the tense mood in the bay that night. She'd gotten much better at Kaidan's precision techniques, but she was still nowhere close to his skill. The man could use his biotics to pick popcorn out of his teeth, a fine instrument where she was a blunt tool. She didn't mind. Kaidan would never be able to crush a man's skull with his biotics like she could, and even the asari Justicar had commented on Jack's power. She'd take power over control any day. And it didn't look like Kaidan was coming down tonight, anyway.

Not that she cared if he showed up or not.

Jack blew down the neatly lined up barrels she'd been practicing on with a controlled shockwave, her usual way of showing she was done for the night, and made for the lift. Kasumi touched her fingers to her brow, then flicked them out in a cocky salute as Jack walked past. Jack let herself smile. She liked Kasumi, if only because the thief liked a little chaos nearly as much as Jack did. Tali, sitting near Kasumi and mired in tech (as usual) merely nodded. Zaeed and Garrus did not break off their exertions, and no one else was in the bay tonight.

Jack headed for the cot she'd set up in the subdecks. She wasn't sure if sleep was going to be an option; she was feeling restless, and craved some sort of distraction. As it turned out, distraction was waiting for her, and it looked like a Spectre.

“What do you want, Alenko?” she said irritably, squelching the warm feeling in her chest at the sight of him sitting on her bunk.

“I just needed somewhere to think, in peace and quiet,” he answered, shrugging. He never reacted to her negativity. Half the crew had been cowed by her bad attitude, many taking it personally, in spite of the fact that she painted with a very broad brush; she didn't make nice for anyone, not even Kaidan. It didn't bother him like the others, though, and she liked that he didn't scare easy. “No one bothers you down here, so I guess I was sort of hoping that trick would work for me, too,” he continued, elbows on his knees, face pensive.

“It's not the location, genius. They don't bother me because they know they'll get a bloody nose if they do.” Jack leaned casually against the table across from the bunk, crossing her ankles and leaning back on the heels of her hands. She ought to kick him out; this was her space, and coming here without her knowledge was just rude. “Being the boss doesn't make you an exception you know, so whatever you want, you better spit it out or you'll have a bloody nose of your own.”

He uttered a quiet laugh that was almost derisive. “Am I?”

“Are you what?”

“The boss.” His brown eyes met hers, self-doubt lurking in the corners. “Shepard thinks I should leave the mission.”

Jack pushed herself off the table, her reaction so rapid and intense it surprised even her. “ _What?_ No! You can't leave!”

Kaidan sat back, blinking in surprise. “Jack. I didn't know you cared,” he said, half a smile on his face.

“Don't fucking flatter yourself, Alenko. I just...” she trailed off, not knowing what the end of that sentence was supposed to be. “I just don't think you should trust this mission in the hands of Cerberus, that's all.”

“You can relax, I haven't made up my mind yet,” Kaidan said. “I want to see the mission through but... I'm not remotely comfortable continuing to work _with_ Cerberus. Not after what they've done to me, not after seeing what they've done to _you_...” he sighed heavily. “If I walked away right now, I'd save myself a hell of a lot of grief. She's right. Not that it makes me feel any better, but... she's right.”

Shepard did have a bad habit of being right about things, and Jack didn't much appreciate it either. At least she wasn't smug about it. Jack respected that. She slouched back to her leaning position on the table. “You haven't seen the worst of what Cerberus has done to me, Alenko,” she said, thinking of Teltin.

He looked up, warily. “I'm almost afraid to hear this.”

“Do you remember when you recruited me? I wanted access to those Cerberus files, and you said yes but the cheerleader shut you down?”

Kaidan clenched his jaw. “I remember. Sort of. It's patchy.” There was the slightest bitter twist of his lips as he spoke. He handled his anger towards Cerberus well. Better than Jack did, anyway. Never lost control, not of his biotics, not of his temper, no matter how hard he was pushed. She pushed anyway. He had to have buttons, and she was determined to find them. The urge to muss that perfectly coiffed hair, to wrinkle the neatly pressed uniform, was overwhelming.

“Well I got access anyway, thanks to Shepard,” Jack said.

Kaidan seemed surprised by her revelation of Shepard's assistance, confirming Jack's suspicions that Shepard had kept their little deal between them. “Every time I think she's gone over completely to their side, I find out she's done something like this,” he said. “What did you want with those files, anyway?”

“I was looking for information on the Cerberus facility where I was raised. First thing I remember is my cell door on a Cerberus base.” She turned away from him, not wanting to see his face when she told him the rest. She didn't want to see the shock or the pity. Not from him. “They did experiments,” she went on. “Drugged me, tortured me... whatever chance I had to be normal, they stole it by trying to turn me into some super-biotic. The doctors, the other kids? Every one of them hated me. They _let_ me suffer.”

Kaidan's hand was on her shoulder, his body close behind hers. She fought the urge to lean into him, shrugging his hand off and stepping away instead.

“You know Cerberus. You know what they're like. They thought they were so clever. Well joke's on them. Turns out, mess with someone's head enough and you can turn a scared kid into an all-powerful bitch. Fucking idiots.”

“They'll answer for this, Jack. They'll answer for everything,” Kaidan said, a steely certainty in his voice. Jack shook her head.

“That's not what I'm after. I found the coordinates of that hellhole in the Cerberus files. I want to go to the Teltin facility on Pragia, where they tortured and drugged me. And I want you to come with me, Kaidan. So you can't leave. Not yet.” She turned, caught his gaze and held it. She refused to beg; this was a fucking demand.

“Me? Not Shepard or-”

“You. Cerberus experimented on you too, and you're a biotic. You're the only one who's going to understand. I told Shepard and she says we can go as soon as we leave the Citadel.”

“What are you going to do?” Kaidan looked doubtful, breaking eye contact and pacing past her with his hands on his hips. He turned back and cautiously met her gaze again. His face was hard to read in the dim lighting of the subdeck. “I'm not big on revenge, Jack. It doesn't fix anything.”

Fucking boyscout. “Teltin was shut down after my escape. Decommissioned... it's been abandoned for years. So I want to go to the center of the place, my cell. I want to deploy a big fucking bomb. And I want to watch from orbit when it goes. Chambers seems to think it'll be 'therapeutic.'”

“No one gets hurt?”

“Just this once? No. I don't plan on killing anyone... this time.”

Kaidan nodded. “Then I stay. For you.”

“Don't get soft on me.” She turned away again, so he wouldn't see her smile.

“Never.”

“Good, then get the fuck out. I have some girly fucking grooming shit to do and I don't need an audience.” Jack scrubbed her palm across the dark stubble that was coming in on her scalp. This haircut was almost more maintenance than it was worth. She turned back in time to see Kaidan's eyes move up to skim her shorn head.

“Going to put in some blonde highlights?” He teased. Fucker.

“What part of 'get the fuck out' didn't you understand, Alenko?”

He sighed, and turned to leave. He muttered something as he left, clearly not meant for her ears, but she could have sworn it was something about how it was always the brunettes that got him in trouble.

 

“Krios! You're back!” Mouse whooped enthusiastically, lunging out of his seat behind a table scattered with tech and dashing forward when Shepard and Thane entered the room. He skidded to a stop on his heels after catching sight of Shepard's stormy face.

“We've got slavers on the station, Mouse. I need you to round some teams together,” she said. As always, the living area was a mess. Shepard stepped around a partially built fort and over threadbare blankets and piles of worn cushions that were too thin to pass as bedding anymore. Several children who had started to surge toward her redirected themselves upon hearing the tone of her voice. She almost wished they'd come to her in spite of her tense mood; she'd missed them. She'd missed listening to breathlessly told fantasies of super heroes that lived only in their childish minds, being shown scribbled pictures of favorite animals seen only in vids, and the feeling of tiny hands trustingly placed in hers.

At that moment, a small hand slipped into her own. She squeezed the three-fingered grip and smiled down at the young turian boy, who they'd been calling Jak, because like pyjak, he had the habit of inevitably turning up at the most inconvenient of places and times. He wasn't afraid of anything, least of all Shepard's bad moods. Jak's mandibles stretched wide in an answering smile, green eyes gleaming mischievously in his black plated face. “Go find some trouble, Jak,” she said, giving him a gentle shove.

“Missed you, Shepard,” he responded, before taking off. She'd need to find a nice family to take him in, soon. If he got much older and was left bare-faced, no turian would trust him. His upbringing on the streets would be plain for anyone to see, and he'd have trouble acclimating to the Turian Hierarchy, and at the moment, Shepard's mind was still dwelling on Selkon's words. _The Hegemony has no place for a batarian raised by a human!_ She fought feelings of self-doubt, and fears that she wasn't doing these kids any favors by acting as their self-appointed guardian.

She drew her attention back to Mouse. “They were working with Selkon. Call in some muscle, tell them I'm willing to pay, and send them along with some of our tech kids. Look for traps along the more remote passages.”

“Selk?” Mouse's face looked vaguely frightened. He and Selkon hadn't exactly been friendly, but they'd been compatriots, after a fashion. Like everyone in this mismatched collection of kids, they'd looked after each other. Back then, anyway. “Why would he- where is he?”

“He's gone.”

Mouse didn't ask further. He didn't have to. He knew Shepard well enough, by now. She'd never been one for giving second chances.

“OK, Shepard. I'll make some calls.” Mouse turned to look eagerly at Thane. “Are you gonna be here for a while, Krios? Did you come to see your son?” Shepard, who had started to turn away, snapped back around to give Mouse a hard look. Thane, too, had his eyes locked on the youth, who's face had gone from eager to nervous, wondering what he'd said to earn that kind of response.

“How do you know Kolyat is here?” Thane asked, voice intense, though his face wore it's trademark calm mask.

“I- he came to me. Looking for work. I thought you, y'know... retired. So I ran through your old contacts to see who might give him a shot.” Mouse retreated a few steps, looking very much as though he regretted saying anything.

“Wait, a job? An assassination?” Shepard cut in. “Shit, Thane, you didn't say he was... I thought you kept him out of that part of your life!”

“I did, Shepard!” Thane answered, as close as she had ever heard him come to snapping at her. Or anyone, for that matter. “He has no training, this was not his calling. Why? Why would he do this?”

“Following in your footsteps, I imagine,” Shepard said, tone dry. Thane looked stricken. “Mouse, who are we dealing with?”

“Elias Kelham.” Mouse was beginning to look slightly sick.

“Do you know who the mark is?”

“No,” Mouse protested weakly. “I'm sorry! I didn't mean to mess up, I- The less I know, the safer I am, Shepard, you know that!” He gestured helplessly, face pleading.

Shepard sighed. “Right. You're right. Don't worry, kid. You didn't do anything wrong. Go round up those teams like I asked you, OK? We'll handle it from here.” Looking relieved, he skittered off, quick as his namesake. Shepard turned to Thane. “Now what?”

“We stop him,” Thane said firmly.

“Stop him? Thane, these aren't the kind of people you can back out of a job for.” Agitated, Shepard began to pace, hands on her hips and eyes downcast. “This complicates things... if Kolyat doesn't take down his mark as contracted, _he'll_ be the one who ends up dead.”

“I would not see my son fall into the same darkness I am fighting so hard to escape.” Thane's face was dark, clouded with a sort of desperation.

“After all these years, you're still seeking redemption?” Shepard asked, incredulous. “Thane, you did what you had to do. There's nothing you need forgiveness for!” Shepard stepped in close, seizing him by the shoulder to emphasize her point, trying to shake some sense into him, as if somehow she could make him see things the way she saw them.

“Isn't there?” he asked, bringing his eyes up and locking his gaze with hers. She looked into his fathomless black eyes, ringed with their faint yellow-green corona, and suddenly realized just how close she was; too close. She took a step back. “You were there, Shepard,” Thane reminded her. “You saw what I did, what I became. I relive their deaths in perfect detail. Can I- can _we_ ever be forgiven for what we did to those men?”

She turned away. “After what they did to Irikah? After breaking your family? Thane, the only unforgivable thing you did was showing them any mercy at all,” she all but snarled. “You may seek forgiveness for your actions, but I do _not._ And if you want to save your son from bearing the burden of guilt you do, I suggest we move quickly. We may already be too late.” Shepard headed for a nearby exit with a sense of urgency, opening her omnitool to make a call in the process.

“What do you know of this Elias Kelham?” Thane asked, getting back to business, though something in his tone implied that he was not ready to drop the previous subject. She silently resolved not to let him get her alone; if she had to endure one more heartfelt lecture on restoring balance to the galaxy, she might hurt the man.

“He's a politician. He's contacted us with jobs before, though an assassination might be a first. I don't know what's changed since I've been gone, that he feels one of his opponents needs to be taken permanently out of the picture. It's going to take me too long to track him down without help, but I think I know who I can call in for assistance.”

“Shepard... are you calling C-Sec?” Thane asked, spotting the pending call going through on the small screen extended on her omnitool. “They seem the least likely people you'd wish to get involved in this.”

“I have to tell them about the slavers. They might not do much, but even having their eyes open for suspicious activity will definitely be a help to me and my people,” Shepard explained. “That, and I  _ do _ have a contact in C-Sec who just might be able to round up Kelham for us, though he won't thank me for asking-” Just then, the call went through. A human officer with pale blond hair and a strong jaw had appeared on the screen, and looked none too pleased to see her.

“Jesus,” he said.

“Shepard, actually. Nice to see you, too, Bailey.”

“What do you want, Shepard?” His voice sounded weary, but resigned.

“Calling in a favor. You can relax, you don't even need to leave your desk. I just need you to bring someone in for me, and let me borrow an interrogation room. I haven't had the chance to play bad cop in a while.”

 

Garrus made another micro-adjustment to the targeting algorithm of the new Thanix Cannon. The control sensitivity would do the job, but he'd never been one to settle for “good enough” when there was still room for improvement. The battery doors behind him opened with a muted whoosh, and he suppressed a flare of irritability, ignoring the intruder and focusing on his work. It was his right to brood if he wanted, and if it was Yeoman Chambers in another misguided attempt to get him to talk about his feelings, he wanted to be sure he had his negativity in check before snapping at an innocent girl with good intentions. Worse yet, it could be Kaidan, a friend Garrus _might_ actually consider talking to about his troubles, which thus far he'd refrained from doing, as Kaidan had more pressing concerns to deal with than Garrus' personal issues. No, the Sidonis situation was best kept to himself, at least until Shepard's return.

Unless the person who just walked in _was_ Shepard.

“Am I interrupting?” asked a familiar voice, and he felt himself relax slightly just knowing it was her. “If you're in the middle of some calibrations, I can go.” He set an automated program running to account for the changes he'd made to the system, then turned with a shrug.

“Calibrations can wait. Is your business with Thane taken care of? Took you long enough,” he said. He didn't mean to sound so irritable, but his temper was short, and he'd be damned if he was going to let Sidonis slip through his grasp.

Her lip curled in disgust. “I can't stand politicians,” she said, followed by a heavy sigh.

Garrus tried his best to discern the nature of that statement. “You helped Thane... assassinate a politician?”

She snorted. “No. Not that I wasn't sorely tempted assassinate this guy, and his opponent too.” Garrus waited, face inquisitive. She smiled, and gave him an explanation in brief. “Human politician took a hit out on a turian politician campaigning on an anti-human agenda. The turian's got powerful friends, so the human didn't want it getting traced back to him. So he hired a drell to do it, someone inexperienced, who was sure to be caught, thereby keeping humanity's hands cleans. Thought he was being smart.”

“Drell assassin?”

The smile fell from Shepard's face. “Thane's son,” she said softly.

“I see.”

“It turned out alright. I stepped in.”

Garrus frowned. “You said you didn't kill the politician, please tell me you didn't kill Thane's son.”

“Spirits, no! Give me more credit than that, Vakarian. Kid is a lost soul, not a threat. As a matter of fact I showed up just in time to save that bigoted turian's life. Now there's an anti-human politician with the powerful friends who owes his life... to a human. In addition to making him rethink his campaign, that's a favor I intend to collect on, one day.” She gave him a smug grin, clearly pleased with herself. “And Thane's son is free to follow his own path, instead of trying to follow in his father's footsteps. He's going to be working with C-Sec now, if you can believe that.”

In spite of himself, in spite of his mood, Garrus felt himself awash with awe all over again. In a a few casual words, she shrugged off changing people's live forever. Helping stem the long-standing tide of hate between turians and humanity, aiding an old friend who sought to reconnect with his son, guiding one more lamb away from danger, and all with the matter-of-fact air of someone holding a door open because it was expected. Did she have any idea how many lives she touched? She made doing good look easy.

His thoughts turned back to Omega, and his black mood descended again. He thought he'd been doing good, once. Maybe for the wrong reasons. Had he really expected his good deeds to be rewarded? Small chance of that.

But that didn't mean evil deeds should go unpunished.

“Garrus?” Shepard asked. He'd let the silence drag on too long. “You said you needed to talk to me about something... I'm here now.”

“I've got something, and I need your help,” he said. He'd told her what happened on Omega. She would understand what he needed to do now. “You remember Sidonis?”

 

A balding head, fringed with sandy hair, cracked back against the wall with a sickening sound. The human started coughing, blood and spittle foaming together around his mouth. “Christ, Garrus, cut me some slack-” Garrus' closed fist impacted the side of his jaw before he could finish begging, and Shepard was sure she saw broken teeth fly.

“You won't get any decent information if he can't talk,” she warned, though she made no move to hold him back. The victim turned his face to her, eyes pleading.

“Shepard. He's gonna kill me... please.”

“I hope you're not under the impression that I'm the good cop here, Harkin. The man asked you a question.” She folded her arms across her chest, arching an eyebrow. “I suggest you answer him.”

“I don't give out client information. It's bad business. This is _exactly_ what I get paid not to do, I can't-” Yet again, Harkin's words were interrupted by an assault from Garrus. This time, he threw the man roughly to the floor, and proceeded to press his booted foot against his throat.

“You can't breath with a crushed esophagus, and that's all you should be worried about right now,” Garrus growled. Shepard didn't mind a little violence, and could feel her pulse racing as it always did when Garrus showed his dangerous side. However, unbidden, she recalled the first time she'd met Harkin, locked in a holding cell with him on the other side of the barrier. _We're Citadel Security, not common thugs or mercenaries_ , Garrus had snapped at the unprofessional officer. Neither of the two men were in C-Sec anymore; now they were merely a thug and a mercenary.

The thought was sobering, a bucket of cold water on her heated thoughts. The years on Omega and the loss of his squad had certainly darkened the former officer's perspective. As Harkin limped to a nearby terminal to place a call luring out Sidonis, Shepard pondered: would the Garrus she'd met years ago be shocked and appalled at his own actions now? Or was this the man Garrus had always been, no longer buried beneath rules and regulations? But she found it hard to feel sympathy for Harkin. He represented the very thing Garrus hated most: corruption. He was a creep, unable to hold the line as an officer, now accepting payoffs from criminals to hide them from the law, a business he'd likely been in since before he left C-Sec.

Shepard watched Garrus carefully, but his eyes were on the sidearm in his hands, which he contemplated broodily as Harkin wrapped up his call. “He wants to meet in front of Orbital Lounge. Middle of the day. So, if our business is done, I'll be going...” Harkin said, taking a nervous step back in the face of Garrus' cold stare. He was too slow; in a heartbeat, Garrus' long legs closed the gap between them, and he had Harkin by the collar.

“I don't think so. You're a criminal now, Harkin.”

“So what... you're just going to kill me? That's not your style, Garrus.”

Shepard held her breath, wondering if that was what he intended to do. Harkin didn't know Garrus as well as he thought, if he thought Garrus wouldn't do it. He'd spent years as a vigilante... permanently removing scum from the streets was very much his style.

For his part, Garrus looked as though he was considering it.

“Kill you? No,” finally he answered, and Shepard smiled slightly. He was still a good man. Ruthless, but not a murderer. “But... I don't mind slowing you down a little. Maybe give C-Sec a blood trail to follow.”

Shepard's smile widened involuntarily, and she made no move to stop Garrus from discharging his weapon into Harkin's leg. The human grunted and fell, trying to stem the spurt of blood with his hands, scrambling to access the emergency medigel function in his omnitool without losing pressure on the wound. “Bastard!” he gasped.

Garrus didn't respond, turning on his heel and passing through the doorway, Harkin already forgotten in favor of more satisfying prey. Shepard hung back, staring down at the bleeding man.

“You're lucky,” she said. “I wouldn't have shot you in the leg.”

 

“You let him just... assassinate a man? In the middle of a public square?” Kasumi asked. She was lying sideways on her bunk, head dangling upside down over the edge, legs straight up in the air, heels resting against the wall. An abandoned paperback novel lay open faced on the bed nearby, one of Kasumi's delicate fingers holding her place, though she hadn't picked it up to actually read in over an hour. “How do you get away with this shit without getting caught, Shepard?”

Shepard smiled and shrugged. “I was just another bystander, as shocked and terrified as anyone else out shopping that day.” Various bits of armor were strewn around Shepard's bunk, as she went through meticulous maintenance. Keeping her armor in good repair was essential. Her boots were on the floor nearby, standing open should she need to don them quickly, and she still wore her armored greaves. The shoulder pauldrons and armored gauntlets were off, however, as well as most of the torso plating. Shepard still wore the undersuit, a sleek body-hugging affair made with an armored weave that was both light and flexible, similar to the kind that Kasumi and Thane favored. Her chest piece was in her hands at the moment, as she worked on replacing the micro-gravimetric emitters, which had been damaged absorbing a particularly nasty concussive shot during a firefight with Harkin's goons.

“Do you think he'll be OK?” Kasumi asked.

“He'd better be,” Shepard replied. “He'll dwell for a bit, I'm sure. The moment we got back to the Normandy he said he needed to be alone and locked himself in the battery. Say what you want about him, though, Vakarian's always had his head on straight. I think he can get past this. But he wouldn't have been able to, knowing Sidonis was still out there. Ask Alenko some time to tell you about the Dr. Saleon incident.”

“Ooh, stories.”

“Don't get too excited... it doesn't have a happy ending.”

Kasumi pouted. For someone who lived her life in the shadows, maybe because of it, she adored fairy tales. She liked her heroes to be noble and strong, her villains to repent after seeing the error of their ways, and she was especially fond of finding true love and riding into the sunset. Just a few days past, Shepard had found her giggling with Tali, heads together at a terminal in the crew quarters, and discovered that the two were co-authoring _Fleet and Flotilla_ fanfiction. Their combined sunny dispositions were almost too much to take. Almost. She needed people like them in her life, people who still knew how to hope, and in exchange she was more than willing to be the cynic in their lives, the dose of reality they they needed from time to time.

The door to the lounge opened unexpectedly. It was late, and most of the rest of the crew were in bed. Shepard looked up in surprise, one hand reaching for her pistol, while Kasumi flickered out of sight, leaving only the fluttering pages of her book on the bed.

Garrus took one slow and deliberate step into the room, looked at Shepard, and nodded slightly. He closed his eyes, swaying where he stood, then opened them again blearily. “Shepard. I seem to have emptied my personal stash of alcoholic beverages, and wanted to inquire if the bar had anything fit for turians to drink,” he said, gesturing casually at the lit bar that filled one end of the room. He was carefully spacing his words, but not quite enough to disguise the slurring of his speech.

“No,” Shepard lied, as he canted dangerously to one side. “There's not. You're cut off, big guy.” She tossed her chest plate aside and scrambled to her feet, in time to get under his arm and straighten him up. He was still in full armor, and she staggered as he leaned his weight into her. There was familiar tickling of air behind her, the faintest whisper of Kasumi's giggle, and then the lounge door was closing and locking itself. Garrus did not appear to notice, but a glance at Kasumi's bed showed that the book had mysteriously disappeared. She was clearly gone for the night.

 _Fine_ , Shepard thought, and stumblingly, she managed to maneuver Garrus over to Kasumi's empty bunk. His knees collided with the edge, and then he was toppling over, somehow managing to drag her down with him. She laughingly attempted to disentangle herself, until she realized that every time she extricated herself from Garrus' arms, he just wrapped them around her again. She looked at his face to see that he was grinning softly, eyes closed.

“Been chasing you too long to let you go now,” he muttered, and she stopped trying to get free. Instead, she found herself grinning stupidly back at him. His eyes snapped open and met hers, his regard so intense she felt the smile falling from her face. “You trust me,” he said. It wasn't a question, but a statement.

“Yes,” she replied.

“I didn't have to kill him today... you could have talked me out of it. If Kaidan or my father had been there, they would have tried. But you didn't.”

“You said he needed to die. I'm not going to question you when you make a decision,” Shepard said. “Because yes, I trust you.” Maybe he wanted to be taken to task for recklessness, maybe that's what he expected, but if so, he'd come to the wrong person. As far as Shepard was concerned, Garrus knew right from wrong, and it was for him to make his own decisions. Whether her words were what he wanted to hear or not, he closed his eyes again, and didn't reply. For a long moment, she thought he might have fallen asleep, so she wiggled around and adjusted herself to squeeze into the space between him and the wall, armor be damned. Her movements disrupted him enough that he popped one eye open, giving her a sidelong look. Then he shifted as well, so that they each were on their sides, lying face to face, much the way they'd slept in their shared bunk on the transport to Omega all those years ago.

“Shepard.” Garrus blinked sleepily at her, clearly struggling to stay conscious.

“Mmmm?”

“I've never been kissed.”

Shepard fought down a giggle. “You're a turian. _Turians_ don't kiss.”

“You're human,” he countered. “ _Humans_ do. I read up on how you interact in relationships, I've seen it on the Citadel and Omega... when you care about something you- you press your mouth on it. Kiss. Children kiss their mother's cheeks, old men kiss their grandchildren on the forehead, I knew this merc who used to kiss every woman he met on the hand, human or not, I swear I saw him do it to an elcor once.” Garrus' speech started to slur again, his blinks becoming long and slow as his gaze went fuzzy with memory. “'Course, he kissed everything, he used to kiss his rifle before every fight, and a pendant he wore around his neck, too, for luck, he told me... the point is, when a human _cares_ about something, they kiss it. When two humans get involved, put their mouths together, and... kiss.” His eyes became focused again, on her, the intensity returning to them. “You've never kissed me, you've never tried. Does that mean you and me... what we're doing, I mean, is it just... is it- am _I-_ not important to you?”

Shepard smiled softly. Slowly, she leaned in, until she was close enough she could feel his breath washing across her skin. His eyes searched her face, and she brought one hand up, cupping it to his jaw, thumb gently caressing his cheek. Then she pressed her mouth to his, softly, lips closed, but still somehow able to taste him, the heady flavors of metal and smoke that she knew so well at this point. She pulled back, looking into his eyes again. “You're important,” she said, resting her forehead against his.

 

An insistent bleeping from her omnitool awoke Shepard hours later. It didn't seem either she or Garrus had moved from the position they'd fallen asleep in, and her arm was utterly numb from being lain on. Glancing over at her own bunk, she saw Kasumi sleeping curled like a cat in the available surface area not cluttered but armor pieces. Garrus didn't stir as she extricated herself from the tangle of limbs they'd created, clambering over him, groaning and stretching her back until her spine popped in three places.

Shaking the fog from her brain, she realized quite suddenly what the bleeping on her omnitool signaled, and all at once she was alert and battle-ready.

It was an incoming communication on a private channel; a channel reserved for emergencies.

Shepard opened the screen, heart hammering in her chest. Alrik's face materialized, his expression full of the kind of furious rage that could only mean one thing.

He was afraid.

“Shepard, thank the spirits,” he said.

“What happened?” she asked. Emergencies meant no time for niceties.

“There's slavers on the station-” he started to say as she shoved her feet into her boots. She stopped, glancing back at the screen. He wouldn't have known she already knew, but this hardly constituted an emergency.

“I know, Alrik, I've already got people on it,” she cut him off.

“Shepard, _listen_! They've got Candy.”

 


	9. Shepard's Personal Mission

“Shouldn't we call C-Sec?” Kaidan wanted to know.

“When I'm done here, sure,” Shepard answered, face hard. “They can clean up what's left.” It was too late to second-guess bringing him along. The need to find Candace and make her safe overrode all other priorities in this moment; of all the children she was trying to look out for, Candace was the one who she'd already failed once, and like hell was she going to let it happen again. Her first instinct had been to tear off on her own, but logic and reasoning reminded her that having a capable soldier at her back had saved her skin more than once since she'd joined up with the Normandy crew. Garrus was sleeping like the dead, and would be hungover besides, so with little more than a long look, she'd left him somnolent on Kasumi's bunk. Kasumi, too, was deep asleep, and while talented within her skill set, Shepard felt the need for someone with more emphasis on combat capabilities. The tactically inclined side of her mind weighed out fighting skills and trustworthiness, and within seconds she found herself (with no small amount of surprise) calling on Commander Alenko and Operative Lawson.

Dr. Chakwas had yet to clear Kaidan for active duty again, and a small part of her mind hissed like a child that she was going to be in _so much_ trouble when she got back to the Normandy.  
Shepard didn't care. That wasn't important to her, not here, not now. Nothing was more important than getting to Candace.

Logic and reasoning chimed in again, reminding her that the mercs she'd hired on had the situation well in hand. Mouse had put her in contact with the teams he'd coordinated and that she was funding. There were squadrons of Eclipse on every arm of the Citadel even as she and her human companions closed in on their destination. At her bidding, they were systematically hunting down and eliminating the roving bands of slavers that had cropped up during Shepard's absence. Each had an independently contracted tech specialist with them, most of them individuals who had grown up on the station under Shepard's care, to handle the traps the slavers had rigged to trap the children with minimal harm. The young salarian heading the team covering the ward where Candace had been taken was both an Eclipse merc, as well as an experienced tech who'd spent his youth among Shepard's flock. Though he registered surprise at her getting personally involved, he quickly relayed to her all the intel they'd gathered so far on the slaver operation, and armed with that knowledge, Shepard, Kaidan, and Miranda were swiftly approaching the most likely location where the children were being kept.

The trio approached the cargo bay they sought, and were greeted by immediate hostile fire from the dozen or so armed thugs that were loitering about the entrance, confirming Shepard's suspicion.

She wasn't remotely phased, and neither were Miranda or Kaidan. They made short work of the attackers; Kaidan's biotics seemed in good form, though he wasn't attempting to do anything particularly challenging. Shepard kept a close eye on him regardless, and noticed that Miranda was doing the same.

They passed through the front doors of the warehouse, and Shepard analyzed the layout with an eye for tactics. One side of the warehouse was an open cargo loading bay, boasting three small docks where ships of a moderate size could load and unload their wares. The other side was enclosed, an area to store merchandise. Currently, it was lined with a large fenced enclosure, and it was here that they laid eyes on the sickening sight of young children of all races, being held in pens like so much chattel. Shepard fought down a wave of nausea as she signaled Miranda into a flanking position to rain biotic hell on the enemy's head, let Kaidan take point, quelling waves of attack with suppressing fire from his assault rifle, and swiftly scaled a ladder to an overhead catwalk to make best use of her sniper rifle.

They were grossly outnumbered, but Miranda and Kaidan were more than capable soldiers, they were combat experts both, each taking down dozens in matter of moments. Shepard channeled her burning anger into combat, showcasing the deadly accuracy for which she was known. No bullet went astray as she advanced along the catwalk, and blossoms of blood in red and blue and green erupted from the slavers along with screams of shock and pain.

Once Shepard was above the holding pens of the children, she activated her tactical cloak and dropped to the ground, undetected by the pair of guards manning the gates. Approaching one silently, she snapped her neck from behind, then dived toward her fellow, thrusting her omniblade through his soft throat before he had a chance to react. A spurt of hot, blue blood splattered her face. She licked it from her lips, tasting its coppery, alien tang, then glanced around. There were still too many enemies; Kaidan and Miranda would be unable to bear the brunt of their attention much longer. This scenario needed a dash of chaos.

Shepard targeted a cluster of barrels in the middle of the battlefield that were marked as being filled with some kind of combustible, fired a precise shot, and was rewarded by a satisfying explosion and the screams of those hostiles nearest it. In the resulting moment of confusion, she hacked the locks on the enclosure that trapped the children. Those nearest the gate backed away from her grim, blood-spattered face.

“Move your asses, now!” Shepard bellowed at them, and as one, they surged forward. Some quailed again at the sight of the many enemies who still stood between them and the exit. “Fight!” Shepard shouted. “Don't let them take you! _This_ your home! Fight to save yourselves!”

Any child who had spent any length of time with Shepard responded to this cry by immediately seizing upon the nearest item that could possibly be used as a weapon. Some were smart enough to take up the dropped weapons of dead enemies, some even salvaged helmets, omnitools, and shield generators as well. Other children cowered, wept and tried to hide, and Shepard resisted the urge to scream at them. She reminded herself that not everyone was cut out for violence, and noted proudly that there were children who took up a defensive stance, stationing themselves between those who would not fight and the enemies they feared. Good. _Good_.

Eschewing stealth in favor of a direct assault, Shepard dove back into the fray. Her rifle safely stowed on her back, her heavy pistol in one hand and her handy omniblade extending from the other, she cut a bloody swath through the enemy, and just in time; someone had had brains enough to call for back up, and a half dozen skycars hurtled down to the loading dock. Each hovered only long enough to swing open a side door, and enemy reinforcements leapt down to join the fight. They targeted Shepard, Kaidan, Miranda, and the children who fought openly; several children were shot down, and Shepard cried out in anger. She noted, however, that most of the shots were to legs or arms. They wanted to wound the children. They still wanted them alive. They had no such compulsion regarding Shepard and her companions, on the other hand, and for a moment all Shepard could focus was on keeping her shields up and her head on her shoulders.

Suddenly, a high, choked cry carried over the carnage. She almost didn't hear it, except that it resonated off a painful memory, one she'd clung to for reasons she couldn't explain, a constant companion these past few years. _  
_

_"Shepard!”_

She turned her head and saw a familiar blaze of orange hair, wide terrified brown eyes locked on her. The voice was broken with disuse, but she opened her mouth and the cry came again. “Shepard!” Candace cried, voice pleading.

Two vorcha and a batarian were closing in on her, where she had her back to the wall, her thin chest heaving with panicked breaths and her hands pressed to the steel behind her, palms flat and fingers splayed. At her feet was Jak, bleeding from a wound in his shoulder, an assault rifle that was too big for him fallen by the wayside, out of his reach but possibly within Candace's. The men hadn't fired, and looked to be at something of an impasse while they considered how to herd the two cornered children back to the pen. One vorcha waved it's arm at the ongoing fight, seeming to indicate a lack of time. The other vorcha appeared to shrug, then turned toward the two children, casually pointing his gun, and though Shepard was hurtling toward them as fast as her long legs could take her, popping the heat sink from her pistol and loading another as she ran, deep in her gut she knew with a sick feeling that she wasn't going to be in time. All she could think to do was scream.

“Fight, Candy! _FIGHT!”_

She didn't know what she expected; perhaps for Candy to seize upon the rifle and somehow, against all reason, manage to eliminate three seasoned mercs before they could fire a shot. She certainly did not expect what happened instead.

Clutching her head in her hands, Candace screamed and fell to her knees. A bubble of bluish energy crackled into existence around her, pulsated for a half a second, then expanded outward, faster than the eye could follow. The mercs flew backward, one arcing high into the air and disappearing over the edge of the dock into the ether beyond, another slamming at incredible speed into a wall with a force that surely broke every bone in his body.

The third landed heavily on his side and skidded across the floor in Shepard's general direction. Without breaking stride, she vaulted over him, firing a shot into his skull. She didn't even bother to glance at the body, still tearing across the battlefield, allowing nothing to come between her and her destination.

Shepard ducked another enemy attack, using her omnitool to slash backwards at the exposed backs of the woman's legs where the armor was lighter. The merc evaded the haphazard attack, but sprinted off in a different direction. Shepard slid the last few feet on her knees, raising one arm to slow her momentum, the heel of her hand thudding heavily against the wall as she placed her body between the two children and the fighting. Jak had struggled to a sitting position, one hand pressed firmly to his wound to staunch the blood flow, while with the other hand he dialed up a curative dose of medigel on his omnitool. He nodded at Shepard, face appearing relieved, then looked sidelong at the human girl he'd been attempting to protect moments before. Candace still pressed her hands against her head, slumping to one side, and was now softly moaning.

“Not again,” she sobbed softly. _“Not again.”_

 

C-Sec was there. Kaidan must have called them in. He hadn't checked with her first, and Shepard was inclined to be angry about it, but they were sweeping through the area in an orderly fashion, tending the wounded and handling the remaining slavers, and she let them, content to hold the little corner that Candace, Jak, and dozen or so other children now sheltered in. A few officers had approached, guns drawn, believing she was one of the slavers. She'd fired a warning shot at the first, sent the second running after overloading his shields, and only the timely arrival of Captain Bailey had saved the life of lucky number three.

Bailey had waved the rest of the officers off, and exchanged a long look with Shepard. “You should have called me,” he said.

“They're my responsibility,” Shepard had replied.

He gestured angrily towards the body of child lying sprawled nearby, one who hadn't been lucky enough to be merely wounded and had instead died slowly of a shot to the gut. “So that's on you.” Her glare was stony, muscles in her jaw flexing. “It didn't have to be, Shepard. Most of these men know who you you are, and they'd rather take orders from you than from the Council... they'd follow you, if you'd only ask. You don't have to take on the whole galaxy alone.” He looked like he wanted to say more, but Shepard's grip on her sidearm was tense, and lack of sleep and a simmering anger had transformed her eyes into little more than deep-set, burning green coals. Bailey was unable to hold her gaze, and whatever further diatribe he'd readied for her, he choked back down and went on about his business.

Another C-Sec officer approached, and Shepard had sighted between his eyes as he approached before she recognized the familiar skull markings.

“Alrik!” she cried, lurching forward and allowing herself to be caught in his arms. The heavy, shuddering breath she released into his shoulder sounded suspiciously like a sob. “Where in the names of the spirits did you get that ridiculous getup?” she asked, pulling away and looking down at his slightly worse for the wear C-Sec blues.

He shrugged. “They weren't about to let a civilian in, and I needed to blend,” he replied. “Don't think you know every trick up my sleeve.”

She took a step back, gesturing behind her. “She's safe.”

Shepard was taken aback when, after one look at Candace's stricken face, Alrik shoved her unceremoniously aside to get to the girl. He gathered her in his arms in an uncharacteristic display of affection, and Candace hid her face in his cowl, while he glared at Shepard accusingly.

She could hardly blame him. Candace's shoulders shook and she made tiny, mewling noises into Alrik's armor. She was crying. Shepard couldn't recall her crying once in the past two years; not even the day of the attack. If she had in all that time, it had remained between her and her turian caretaker.

“What happened?” Alrik asked gruffly. “She wouldn't be this upset unless...” he let the sentence trail off, glancing down at the top of tousled orange head, then back up at Shepard. “Spirits. Survival instinct, I guess. You know, then?”

“About her biotics? Yes,” Shepard replied, too tired to be tactful, anger at the slavers now distorting itself into anger at him. “You knew? You knew and you didn't tell me?”

“What could you have done about it?” He shrugged, matter-of-factly. “Your human government has yet to come up with a proper training program for your biotics. They'd whisk her off, and where? Nowhere that's safe. And besides, she never used them, at least not intentionally. Not once when she was awake. Only when the nightmares got bad, and they haven't been in months. They'll be back now.”

“That won't be a problem for you,” Shepard said flatly. “She's coming with me.”

“What?” he almost roared, standing up from the semi-crouch he'd been in while cradling Candace to his chest. At his full height, he towered over Shepard, who at six feet was not a small woman. She did not flinch. A sniffling Candace stared up fearfully at the two. “She won't be safe with you!” he accused.

“She wasn't safe with _you_ ,” Shepard spat back. He winced, seeming to deflate. “You know what happens to the human girls the slavers take, Alrik,” she argued further, mercilessly driving home a point.

“Of course I know,” he snapped back. “It's all I've been thinking about since she disappeared.” Shepard felt a twinge of guilt, but refused to back down.

“Shepard,” interjected a third voice, faintly, subharmonics humming with exhaustion. She looked down to see that Jak had stumbled to her side. With mild surprise, she saw that he'd reached out to Candace, and though she still had her face buried in Alrik's side, at the sound of his voice she reached for him, too, and they stood now with palms innocently cupped, fingers curled around one another's hands. “They took them,” Jak said, and Shepard refocused.

“Took who?”

“Other kids,” he explained lamely. “They- a few hours ago, they came through. Picked some of the kids out of the group, loaded them onto a shuttle, and took them. I don't know where. They said something about a special client-”

He broke off as Shepard seized his arm roughly. “What other kids?”

“Humans. All humans. Girls, older ones. There were probably about thirty of them?”

“Alrik. I have to go. Look after Jak.” The turian nodded, knowing what she knew without either of them having to speak it aloud.

“I can keep Candy here,” he started, but trailed off when she sharply shook her head.

“No. She comes with me. But I have to go, now.”

Candy cautiously took Shepard's extended hand, not making a sound, even when Shepard roughly hauled her off, long legs stretching to a gait the girl could hardly be expected to keep up with. “Lawson! Alenko! We're moving out!” Shepard ordered. Miranda, who had been close at hand, though keeping to herself, responded with an affirmative nod and fell into step. Kaidan, conferring intently with Bailey, didn't appear to have heard her for a moment. It took Bailey jerking his chin at Shepard's retreating form for him to realize that she was on her way out.

“Best not keep her waiting,” Bailey said, in a voice that was not unkind. “She's not the patient type.”

 

The skycar flew through Citadel at breakneck speeds. Kaidan was braced against his seat, gritting his teeth as Shepard cut once again around a corner and through a route that was likely not approved by Citadel Administration as valid flight path for vehicular traffic. A quick glance at the back seat revealed that Miranda bore a look of consternation as well, though she didn't seem any more likely to say anything than he was. The girl Shepard had unexpectedly insisted was coming along, and then proceeded to bodily throw into the back seat, was huddled in a the corner, utterly silent. She was wide-eyed, mouth a tiny line of anxiety, and dried tears left trackmarks through the dirt and blood smeared across her freckled cheeks.

Another sudden change in direction caused her to lurch towards Miranda. With a flicker of surprise, Kaidan watched Miranda protectively throw her arms around the girl, her face brimming with maternal concern. As the skycar straightened on its course, the child stiffened, and Miranda immediately let her go.  
Shepard punched the comm unit on the dashboard with an angry fist. “Joker!” she said, then “ _Joker_!” a second time when there was no immediate reply.

“Flight Lieutenant Moreau is asleep, Shepard. Is there something I can help you with?” replied EDI.

“Prep the Normandy for departure, we are coming in by skycar, ETA two minutes. I want the engines running when I get there, and I need the best pilot in the Alliance on the controls so you _wake_ his crippled ass up.”

“Orders received, Shepard.”

Kaidan still wasn't sure how he felt about the Normandy's AI, now that his feelings on the subject were no longer being influenced. He was still brimming with anger and confusion about everything regarding Cerberus, and EDI was a Cerberus creature; one thing to be said for it, however was that it didn't question orders. Any human on the other end of that line would be dying to know what was going on. Hell, he didn't know what was going on, precisely. Shepard's notoriously short fuse was burning down fast, though, and he was afraid to ask.

Miranda had given him a high speed explanation as they dashed to the car. All he'd caught was that there were more slavers, and more kids, and no time.

Their skycar made a sudden vertical maneuver, cutting through a crack Kaidan hadn't even seen until they were in it, and he was pushed back into the cushions of his seat by the force of acceleration. The opening was wide, stretching back into darkness on either side of the car, but the ceiling was low, if 'ceiling' was the appropriate term, given the angle of the vehicle. How Shepard managed to keep the car's roof and bottom from scraping against either ceiling or floor was beyond him. There was a sliver of light ahead, and before he knew it they were bursting out into the pale haze of space that filled the center of the Citadel, curving down in a wide arc towards the Normandy where it sat in dock.

He pushed his feet against the floor, unconsciously trying to slow their descent as the car hurtled towards the docking bridge. The crowds of reporters still lied in wait, at first surging toward the car, then scattering as it became clear they weren't going to slow down. Shepard pulled the nose sharply upward at the last possible second, and the car thudded on to the bridge at an angle, a few feet from the Normandy's side.

Shepard opened her side door and leapt from the car so fast it appeared she'd triggered the ejector seat. Miranda was a breath behind her, the girl in tow. Kaidan scrambled out his side, sliding across the hood in his haste to keep up with them as they all but sprinted toward the Normandy.

A reporter who had been fortunate enough to be between the skycar and the Normandy rushed toward them, eyes locked on Kaidan. “Commander Alenko? Commander Alenko! Khalisa Bint Sinan al-Jilani, Westerlund News. You've been missing and believed dead-”

Kaidan didn't have time to formulate a reply. As the woman attempted to push past her, Shepard hauled back one arm and landed an armored fist upside the reporter's jaw without breaking stride. The woman crumpled to the ground. Kaidan paused only long enough to haul the dazed woman upright before hustling onto the Normandy behind Shepard, Miranda, and the girl, just before the airlock door sealed behind them.

Shepard had dialed someone on her omnitool, and was currently shouting into her comm unit. “Smugglers don't get off the Citadel undetected without going through you, now you _find_  that ship and you fucking _track_ it and you tell me right fucking _now_ where it is!” A tinny voice he couldn't understand yammered back at her. “ _ **Track. Them**_. And patch it straight through to me.”

The inner doors opened just as Joker was limping past them, settling his cap on his head. “Shepard, what is this- is that a _kid_?” Joker stared as Miranda hustled the girl towards the lift. Kaidan logically concluded she meant to take her to the medbay. The girl stared back at Shepard with brown eyes as big as saucers, but did not object as she was swept away.

“ _At the helm, mister!_ ” Shepard snapped, and Joker reacted with appropriate military efficiency while Kaidan wondered how a person with no military training had mastered a perfect command voice. Shepard leaned over Joker's shoulder while he settled into his chair, reaching for the controls. “This ship, here,” she said, punching something into the controls and pulling up a small tracking screen. “Get us to it. Now.”

“Aye-aye,” Joker acknowledged. “Tracking target. They're closing on one of the outer relays, probably heading for one of the outer systems, Terminus or maybe the Attican Traverse.

“ _Dammit_ ,” Shepard exclaimed softly. “Can you get to them before they get to that relay, Joker?”

“If I disregard every protocol on file about safe flying within the Citadel proper.”

“Do it.”

“Doing it.”

“What are you planning?” Kaidan asked. Faced with a brief inaction while the Normandy pulled out of dock, Shepard now appeared ill-at-ease, shifting from foot to foot, drumming her fingers nervously on the back of Joker's chair.

“Best case scenario, we disable and board, eliminate hostiles and recover the girls. Worst case: blow them out of the sky. Either way, we have got to get to them before they get to a relay. We'll never be able to track them if they get through.”

“Blow them out of the sky? Shepard, there are children on that ship, I thought we were trying to save them!” Shepard was silent, face intent on the tracking screen as they closed on their target, and Kaidan wasn't sure if she heard him. He seized her by the arm, pulling her around to face him. “You'd kill them rather than let them be taken?” he asked incredulously.

“I would.” The Normandy hurtled between two of the Citadel's mighty arms, pulling around in a tight arc and accelerating toward the series of relays along the edge of the nebula.

“You'd sacrifice innocent lives just to take out your enemies? You're as bad as Saren!” Kaidan had her by both arms now in a grip so tight that it would leave bruises if she weren't in armor.

“Don't you _ever_ compare me to that monster,” she snarled, shoving him so hard he stumbled back into the console behind him. “It's not just about stopping the slavers, Alenko, it's about saving those girls from a fate worse than death!”

“Target in range,” EDI announced. “Orders?”

“Can we disable?” Shepard asked, turning her back on Kaidan.

“The relay is already charging; in the time it would take to accurately target a nonlethal attack that disabled the engines, we would lose them.”

“Then fire. Anywhere. Just stop them.”

“ _NO_ ,” Kaidan shouted over her, but the floor was already rumbling as the Thanix Cannon roared to life. A white blue beam pierced through the nebula's haze, cutting through the heavens and connecting solidly with the small kowloon class freighter that was desperately trying to reach the nearest relay. It quietly disintegrated, fragments spiraling away into space.

“No,” Kaidan repeated himself softly, denying what he had just witnessed. Shepard exhaled long and slow, eyes closed and brows drawn together in a pained look. “EDI, didn't you hear me, I said _no_!” Kaidan accused the blue orb that hovered to his left.

“I did hear you, Commander Alenko. However, Shepard is the commanding officer aboard this vessel. Her orders supercede yours. It should also be noted that I did not fire the Normandy's weapons systems.”

Kaidan reeled back, not sure whether to react to realization that his authority was no longer absolute, or that someone else had fired on the freighter. The latter won out. “Who fired?”

“The Thanix Cannon upgrade is new, and while it is fully operational, it is not yet tied into my primary weapons systems. At this point, it can only be fired directly from the main battery. Officer Vakarian was the party who acted on Shepard's orders to open fire.”

 

Garrus woke up to find himself alone. That felt wrong, though at first he wasn't sure why, until he remembered that he had fallen asleep in company. He sat up, head aching and mouth dry, and glanced around. This was not his narrow cot in the main battery. The lounge. Shepard.

Where was Shepard?

He tried to recall what he'd said to her before drifting into unconsciousness. Spirits, he hadn't really tried to kiss her, had he? Or had she tried to kiss him? Most of the night before was a liquor soaked blur, so he cast his mind further back. He thought back to before that, to taking out Sidonis, and how Shepard had been at his side, every step of the way. All those years thinking he'd been on her tail, only to find that even then she'd been pacing him, step for step, hidden in the shadows. He never should have doubted he'd find Sidonis; he'd found Shepard, after all.

Now if only he could figure out where she was now. “EDI?” he mumbled around a dry tongue that stuck to the roof of his mouth, shuffling out of the lounge and towards the mess hell. It was quiet, empty. A glance at the clock showed that third shift was almost over. Soon, this part of the ship would start bustling with the early-risers, grabbing stimulants and breakfast food before the start of first shift.

“Yes, Garrus?” EDI replied as he rummaged through the kitchen area. After a moment, he located the canisters of purified water. Seizing one, he cracked it open and tilted it down his throat, drinking it all in a few swallows.

“Where's Shepard?” Garrus asked. He knew it was just the after-effects of too much drink, but he was sure that there was no tastier beverage in the galaxy than the military grade purified water canister he had just imbibed. The cold drink woke up a mildly upset stomach, however, so he hunted for some food that wouldn't offend it further.

“The Shepard is not currently aboard the Normandy,” EDI said. “She left in a state of some distress several hours ago, and her expected return time is unknown.”

Garrus coughed in alarm around the dry protein bar he was attempting to choke down. Distress? Why hadn't she woken him up? His stomach surged queasily in response to the nutrients he was forcing into it, and he realized he would have been in no state to aid her, regardless. “Is she alone? Do you know what the problem is?” he managed to ask EDI after a moment, grabbing another protein bar and water canister on his way to the battery.

“She received a personal call on her omnitool which lasted approximately 9.45 seconds. It did not come through the Normandy's channels, so I do not know what the source was. Her response was very alarmed. She made several other personal calls afterwards, as well as requesting that Commander Alenko and Operative Lawson suit up and meet her in the airlock. None have yet reported back-” there was a pause so brief, Garrus almost didn't register it. “Correction: Shepard is currently en route to the ship, and has just requested the Normandy prepare to disembark. I am waking essential personnel now. She has not given any further information on the nature of her mission, however, she does still appear to be in state of high stress. If there is nothing else you require, Garrus, I suggest you prepare yourself for a possible call to action.”

Garrus grunted acknowledgment, already running a systems check on his hardsuit while assembling weapons and spare thermal clips from his bench in the battery. He then turned to the Thanix Cannon, running a few quick diagnostics to be sure it was battle-ready. Trouble was coming, though he wasn't sure what, and he wanted to be prepared for anything. He could hear voices from out in the mess hall as various people surged out of the crew quarters, the thrum of their feet against the floor as they jogged toward their stations.

Reaching for the comm at the battery's control station, Garrus opened a channel to the cockpit to see if he couldn't figure out what was going on. “Joker?” There was no response. He waited, leaving the channel open. It wasn't long before he was rewarded by the sound of heated voices as several people walked into range.

“Aye-aye.” Joker's voice was the loudest as he sat down in the pilot's seat. “Tracking target.” Garrus didn't have a chance to enter the conversation as Shepard and Kaidan's voices became apparent, in heated argument.

“It's not just about stopping slavers!” Shepard was shouting, and the part of Garrus' brain that was a trained detective suddenly reared up. Things she'd said, things he knew, thing's he'd seen with his own two eyes: all the pieces were there, assembling themselves in a picture he didn't like but that he could not deny. He felt his heart thudding in his chest and his blood rising, time slowing down as he pulled up the data on the freighter they were tracking from the cockpit. “It's about saving those girls _from a fate worse than death_.”

The Normandy's primary weapons systems were scanning the freighter, attempting to do split-second calculations to line up a disabling shot. Garrus manually locked the Thanix Canon on the freighter's coordinates, and prayed to the spirits, but the relay rings were moving faster and faster and there wasn't going to be time.

 _“Just stop them,_ ” she said. And he did.

 

“There's an incoming message; looks like Citadel Security. Patching it through,” Joker said. Shepard clearly looked like she'd just as soon he didn't, but it was too late to stop him.

“Normandy, weapons fire within the Serpent Nebula is strictly prohibited by C-Sec regulations. You have a attacked and destroyed a cargo freighter; please explain your actions,” announced a disembodied voice. Kaidan was still trying to sort out what the ramifications of Shepard's actions might be. It looked like they were about to find out.

“That freighter was illegally smuggling live cargo in direct violation of Council law. Sentient, organic abductees from a race under Council protection. It would have been untraceable if allowed passage through the relay. Eliminating it was necessary, and within my authority,” Shepard responded, her voice firm, but tired.

“Who's authority? Identify yourself.”

“ _Spectre_ authority,” Shepard snarled back, her eyes flashing angrily at the challenge. “The name is Shepard. You can check my credentials.”

There was a long pause. The silence in the room was a palpable thing, hanging thick and heavy as Kaidan processed her words, and Joker openly gaped. A hundred thoughts swirled through his brain, and he tried to seize one, to formulate it into words and string them into a sentence. He failed.

“Normandy, return to Citadel immediately. The Council wishes to debrief you personally,” said a voice finally. It was different than the first voice that had spoke. Kaidan wasn't sure if Shepard recognized it, but he certainly did: Donnel Udina, the Human Councilor.

“Negative,” Shepard said. Kaidan caught her eye, and shook his head in warning.

“That was not a request, Shepard. I expect to see you in the Council chambers in ten minutes.”

Shepard's jaw clenched and unclenched, and he knew she was considering repeating her negative. He frowned, then hissed at her and hoped the comm didn't pick it up. “You knew there would be consequences to your actions. Face them. That's part of being a Spectre.”

She closed her eyes, then leaned in towards the comm. “Acknowledged,” she said with a pained look.

The first voice was speaking again, directing Joker into the berth designated specifically for Spectre ships at the Citadel Tower itself. Shepard wearily shuffled to the airlock, standing ready for the moment they were in dock.

Kaidan tried to organize his thoughts as the Normandy glided toward the tower. He knew there wouldn't be time to ask her the dozens of questions that crowded his mind, so he settled on one. “How long have you been a Spectre?” he asked.

“Since you stopped,” she answered. The airlock released with a hiss, and she stepped through it.

Out in the CIC, the room was buzzing with conversation. The crew was openly and loudly wondering what had just occurred; why they had fired, and on who, and where was Shepard going now? A distinct silence settled as Kaidan stepped into the room. One Cerberus team member turned towards him.

“Commander? What happened?”

“We stopped the bad guys,” Kaidan answered with a shrug. The people relaxed, some smiling. They were reassured. Kaidan wasn't. He made his way to the lift, then took it down to the crew deck. Avoiding eye-contact and queries from the people in the mess hall, he approached the forward battery, hesitating for only a moment before stepping over the threshold.

“Shep-” Garrus said, turning towards the door. “Oh. Commander. What can I do for you?”

“You can tell me what just happened,” Kaidan demanded, slamming a palm onto the door panel and shutting it behind him. “The last time I saw a Spectre make the kind of ruthless decision Shepard just made, he turned out to be working for a race of sentient machines set on the destruction of the galaxy. Back then, you told me you had a gut feeling that Saren was up to no good, and I trusted you. When we recruited Shepard, you told me she wanted to save the galaxy as much as we did, and I trusted you then, too. Help me understand why someone who's here to save people would have just given that order, and why you acted on it, because right now I'm.. I'm a little lost.”

Kaidan wasn't great at reading turians, but a man would have to be blind to not be able to see the cold rage behind Garrus' otherwise expressionless face. Garrus waved at the bench near his weapons table, indicating that Kaidan should sit. He did, while Garrus paced, apparently organizing his thoughts. Finally, he spoke.

“We were friends, back in the old days, Kaidan. I'm glad you still trust me, and hell, when you walked onto Omega and I saw you... do you have any idea how it feels to have hope wake up inside you when you thought you were dead inside? Because in the two years we thought you were dead, in the time I was on Omega, I saw... _terrible_ things. It changes a man. I lost touch with what was good in the galaxy. You start to wonder, after a while, why you even bother fighting anymore. Self-destruction starts to seem inevitable. I'm not saying I agree with Saren-”

“What _are_ you saying?”

“That the universe is a lot darker than some people realize. I haven't given up hope of making it a better place, because I know there are men like you fighting for that. But I understand why some people might have lost that hope. Shepard, she... could probably use a reminder of what we're fighting for. Things are awful shiny up on the Presidium Ring but back in C-Sec, I worked the Wards. Sure, things aren't as bad as a place like Omega down there, but they're still bad. One of the only things keeping crime in check down there was Shepard. She's been fighting a personal battle against slavers on the Citadel her whole life. It never ends.” The more Garrus talked, the more emotional strain Kaidan could pick up on in his subvocals. He knew Garrus well enough to tell.

“Tell me,” Kaidan encouraged when Garrus paused uneasily. “About the slavers.”

“There are dozens upon dozens of slaving operations in the Terminus. Batarians, usually, you know they consider it a part of their economy, and they never forgave the Council for outlawing it. But even the Hegemony has rules about what kind of slaves they pick up, appropriate work for them, proper training and all that. The ones I took out on Omega were usually mercenaries and opportunists, looking to make a few quick credits. They'd take the risk so the Batarians didn't have to, pick up the unwanted and see what was worth selling. If it was something the Batarians considered unusable, they'd find some other use for them, some other buyer.” Garrus finally ceased his pacing, and came to sit. He didn't look at Kaidan, but continued his story with his gaze turned blankly forward.

“I've heard about them selling to the Collectors, if you can believe that. That was the first I'd ever heard of them. Once there was this Volus, using slave labor on a plantation on a colony at the edge of the Terminus, and trying to pocket the profit. This crazy krogan used to buy salarians to eat them; that's a whole other story.” Garrus let a small, mirthless laugh escape. “Point is, I stopped the slavers whenever I could, but sometimes they got away. Even the ones I got to, it felt like no sooner did you take one group out, two more sprang up to replace it. The market is too big.” Garrus stopped again, and the silence grew between them.

Kaidan remained quiet. He let Garrus take his time explaining; he'd asked, after all. When Garrus resumed, his voice was unusually quiet. “Eventually, I came across these guys who were only taking human girls. Like the girls on that freighter out there. I started looking into why, suspecting the worst. The truth, though... was worse than I could have imagined. Like I said, I have seen some terrible things, but... _nothing_ compared to this. It was a small take, about a dozen girls, sexually mature by human standards, but not much more then kids. No families. The kind that wouldn't be missed. I lost them at the relay; can't track a ship after they jump. But I had the transport's signature, and a guy at traffic control who was on the take. He called me a few weeks later, when the ship was back in the system. They only docked for a few hours to pick up supplies. A scan of the hold showed human signatures, what I was sure must be more captives and maybe a few guards.”

Garrus seemed to struggle with the next part. Kaidan realized this might well be the first time he'd told this story. It couldn't have been that long ago, maybe only a matter of months. Garrus reached for a water canister, half full, that was sitting on the table, and took a long drink out of it. “I boarded with some of my squad,” he said, finally. “We took out the guards, but when we got to the hold, expecting human captives, we saw... asari. Or what looked like asari. Only you don't see asari so young, not outside Asari space. You don't see asari _slaves_ , even if you know they exist, they are incredibly rare, because they are so dangerous. Every asari is biotic. Any asari alone could free herself from the kind of low-grade restraints these girls were in, and a group together? Should have been able to tear that ship apart.”

Kaidan put the pieces together, as surely Garrus must have done when confronted with the appalling truth.

“They weren't asari,” he said in horrified certainty.

Garrus shook his head. “Turns out, the slavers catered to a certain fetish. Only it's hard to enslave an asari; it's not impossible, but the cost is monumental. Why go to the trouble, when you can manufacture your own, for so much less? There were five girls. They were from the original twelve who were taken. They'd been transferred... elsewhere, for the medical procedures, and were now coming back through Omega on their way to a buyer. The other seven had apparently died during the process. Chemical skin treatments to remove all their body hair, followed by more chemical treatments to turn their skin blue. They were only gone a few weeks. They weren't given any time for recovery, just run through one invasive violation after another. Scalp implants that looked like asari crests, with skin grafted over them, skin from the bodies of the girls who had already died. Two of the girls had had their eyes stained black.”

Nausea assaulted Kaidan as he considered the implications. He wanted to believe in the best in people. It was hard to do so when confronted with their worst.

“The 'doctors,' if that's what you want to call them, were the kind of drug-addled, unlicensed hacks you'd find working off of dirty folding tables in a back alleys,” Garrus went on. Kaidan almost wish he'd stop, but there was more, and Kaidan knew he needed to hear the whole truth. “One of the girls screamed whenever anything touched her; she was in constant pain from the chemicals, said her skin felt like it was on fire. Another, one with the black eyes, had been blinded by whatever the hell the dye was made of. Two had infections in their scalps that were almost beyond treatment. I tried to get them help, but Omega isn't exactly the kind of place where you can get the best medical treatment, even if you had the money. One of them died from complications about two weeks later. One was killed, trying to steal the money, to get medical help or maybe just to get back to wherever her home was. Another took her own life rather than live with what had been done to her. Two of them, with no family, no money, nowhere to go... turned into working girls. One was dead a few months later, neck snapped by an angry client when he realized she wasn't a real asari. The other is still working. I tried to get her some credits, but the last time I talked to her, she was high on some drug the volus like to peddle. Didn't even know who I was. Told me she wished she was dead.”

“My god,” was all Kaidan could manage in the silence that followed.

Garrus stood back up and crossed the room, clenching and unclenching his fists, his whole body tense, shoulders hunched away from the ghosts of his past. “Sometimes you hear people talk about fates worse than death. They're real. One of the worst parts about the whole thing was when I questioned the slavers we'd taken alive about who they were selling the girls to: humans. Their own people are perpetrating this. Human scum who have heard these sexualized myths about asari and then find out the reality is vastly different from their expectations, that asari are still people, just like humans. They want the fantasy, want their exotic sex slaves, but real asari slaves through the Hegemony are not only expensive, they are always a danger. Every one is a biotic, and not only that, they are incredibly long-lived compared to a human, and can patiently kill you just a little at a time. What's a few months or years to them? What are a few decades? So some sick opportunist takes away the risk. Human women look close enough; a few cosmetic alterations, and they get the exotic looks they want, without the confusing alien biology under the hood, without the danger of biotics. I never was able to track down where that operation was out of, but I made damn sure they weren't being supplied out of Omega anymore.”

Garrus' eyes were pained as he turned to face Kaidan, and it dawned on him that it wasn't just bad memories plaguing the turian now. His next words were spoken with bitterness and guilt.

“I guess they found new hunting grounds.”

 

There were too many people out there. They wouldn't stop talking, and their voices were too loud.

He didn't want to hear them anymore; Garrus opened a music program on his omnitool and let it run. He found a channel that was playing calming, instrumental music. A plaintive melody played on something with strings, and it made for a nice distraction. He let it play out loud, instead of just through the earpiece in his visor. And he waited.

For Shepard.

He didn't have to wonder if she'd come. He knew she'd come. Kaidan had said she'd been summoned to the Council. He knew her well enough that whatever else happened, she was guaranteed to come back wound up and angry. She was probably also exhausted; she'd been woken in the middle of the night and been running on adrenaline ever since. He and Kaidan had agreed that she'd want to leave immediately, and Kaidan proceeded to make the final preparations to do so. Garrus' job was to make sure she got some rest, even if that meant knocking her over the head.

Expecting her, however, didn't make him prepared for when she finally walked in. He was half-reclined on his bench, listening to the particularly soulful strains of a piece who's Volus composer he was trying to recall the name of, when he heard the door open.

Garrus opened his eyes immediately, standing up to greet her. She was standing on the threshold, staring in. He silenced the music, staring back at her.

“Shepard.”

“Sorry, I didn't mean to... disturb. I don't know why I came. I should go,” she said, and something told him that it wasn't the music putting her off. He wasn't even sure if she'd registered it playing.

“Stay.” She looked up, into his eyes, her face haunted. “Talk to me,” he said. She took a few slow steps into the room, and the door quietly slid shut behind her. All at once, she slumped down on the bench he'd just vacated, as though her body couldn't support the weight of her anymore.

“Twenty-four. That's how many innocent girls I just ordered the deaths of, in the name of 'saving' them. If I had been faster, if I had been more vigilant-”

“You did everything you could,” Garrus cut her off, gripping her shoulders in his hands. “We both know that in the end, what we did was a mercy.” She was staring at the floor, and he wasn't sure if she was hearing what he said. He dropped one knee in front of her, leaning in and nudging his forehead comfortingly against the top of her head.

“Why'd you do it, Garrus?” she whispered softly. “Why'd you take the shot?” He knew she wasn't rebuking him, but seeking to understand what had happened today.

“You said they needed to be stopped, before they reached the relay. I'm not going to question you when you make a decision,” Garrus answered honestly. “Because I trust you.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work-in-progress. Check back for updates. Sadly, they may be... infrequent. However, I have no intention of quitting this fic. There is a lot of this AU I intend to explore.


End file.
